


Glass Ceilling

by lun27



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Auror Hermione Granger, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Head Auror Harry Potter, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lun27/pseuds/lun27
Summary: A series of terrorist attacks is shaking the wizarding world. When Hermione gets assigned to protect Malfoy of all people, she's bound to solve the case as quickly as possible on her own devices. After all, that's the only way she can get rid of Malfoy. That's all she wants, isn't it? Post War AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 50
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this floating around my Drive for some time now. I didn't quite finish it yet because I absolutely suck at crime (it's really not my favourite genre). But why not give it a try I thought :D It's quite fun to write actually.
> 
> Inspiration for the introduction taken from Children of Men.
> 
> WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of death

The static from the radio was aggravating. Hermione threw a dirty look towards the shop assistant who was constantly fiddling with the knob, trying to find the radio signal.

Her migraine was getting worse. She needed coffee. Impatiently, she tapped her foot.

"Give me a bloody second, woman," she heard him mumble. Then there finally was a voice penetrating the white noise of the radio and the man turned back towards her.

"A coffee," she said. "Please." Hermione didn't bother sounding polite, her 'please' filled with annoyed urgency. The guy just sneered at the cash register as he punched in the price.

'This morning, a new statement has been released regarding the fire in the Lestrange Townhouse.' The reporter on the wireless sounded excited.

'Aurors are clearing the area, claiming that dark magic has been traced that might be linked to the robbery at Borgin and Burkes. A cleansing of the Lestrange property is currently in operation. We have no news on any leads in the investigation. What is haunting the pureblood families and what is the Ministry doing to protect our citizens? We have asked this question time and time again, but leading Auror Granger is refusing to make a statement.'

"Three Sickels."

Hermione fished some coins from her pocket while the man behind the counter poured coffee from a yellow-tinged glass jug into a cheap paper cup.

'How much further will the government allow this radical movement to grow and infest our society?' The reporter was nearly shouting now. Hermione closed her eyes briefly and only reopened them when she heard the soft tap of the cup being set on the counter in front of her.

She didn't tip. Taking her coffee, she left the dirty shop, ducking her head as she stepped into the London rain.

Her long coat fended off most of the weather and a quick repellent spell kept the rain from touching her head, but London rain had a way of seeping in no matter how many waterproof layers she put on. She felt cold and wet, and as soon as she turned down the street, someone bumped into her, causing her to spill half of her coffee down her front. She cursed and set it on a low brick wall to her left to scourgify the mess.

Patting at her french coat, she looked for any remaining traces of coffee. Then all hell broke loose.

She wasn't quite sure what happened, but a sudden wave of scorching hot air blasted her off her feet, throwing her to the ground where she landed with a grunt.

Her body felt stiff and heavy as she tried to roll over her side and push up to all fours. For a moment, she believed she was deaf, but then a loud beeping sound exploded in her head, and she grasped for her wand in the rubble lying around her.

Smoke burned her eyes as she squinted towards the shop she had just left, trying to gain a resemblance of balance as she pushed up to her feet.

People were running left and right of her, dull shouts echoed in her ears, her eardrums feeling like they had exploded in the blast that had gone off behind her.

She raised her wand and cut through the smoke in a slashing movement, conjuring a gust of wind that cleared the air.

Where there had been a shop front with a cheap welcome sign in the window was now a gaping hole with black edges and glass strewn on the ground.

She staggered towards it, her wand levelled at the flames licking at the edges of what had been the door. The fire was sizzling in the rain and slowly died down.

Hermione raised her eyes, let them roam over rubble, broken shelves, charred floorboards and a small, silver radio that was still playing static with unintelligible snippets of conversation or maybe a song in between.

Her stomach turned when her eyes fell on the lump laying across the remnants of the counter.

She quickly turned to the side and threw up. Or at least her stomach tried to throw up, resulting in only dry retching as she had consumed neither breakfast nor coffee that morning.

She turned away from the burned body and sent a Patronus to the Aurors' office. Commanding the crowd of curious witches and wizards that had tentatively formed when no further explosion or fire was in sight to step back, she enforced wards around the shop to conserve all traces for later inspection.

Then she went back to the wall where her cup of coffee was still waiting for her. Half-empty and diluted by city rain. She took a sip of the lukewarm liquid and pulled a face as the strong, bitter taste ran down her throat.

While waiting for her colleagues, she massaged her temples. The caffeine was slowly doing its duty. Her headache lessened.

That was until the reporters showed up. She sighed and retreated past the wards she had set up until Harry came and took over.

Five colleagues in deep purple managed the crowd as Harry marched towards the crime scene accompanied by an Unspeakable.

"Hermione." He kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her arm briefly before letting his eyes roam over the interior of the shop. "How are you?"

"Fine." She pulled up a corner of her mouth in an attempt to smile, knowing that she just looked tired.

"Did you get hurt? Did anyone perform a medical examination?"

"I'm fine, Harry. I was out of the shop and already ten steps away before it exploded."

He frowned. "Was it a targeted attack? Did you see anyone?"

She looked back towards where the corpse of the unfriendly shop clerk was carefully packaged into a sealed bag that would be carried away to the examination rooms the Ministry had rented out in the cellars of St. Mungo's.

"I doubt he killed himself. I didn't see anyone else."

Harry nodded but frowned. "Why here, though?"

"I don't know, Harry." She sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Shite morning."

"Yeah, shite morning." He patted her shoulder and then pushed her towards the healers that had just arrived. "Go get yourself examined, I expect your report in an hour and then take the rest of the day off."

She scoffed and walked out, stepping over the remains of the door that was still hanging by a hinge. "Sure, Harry."

"I mean it!" he called after her, but she just waved his concerns away as she took the last sip of her disgusting coffee. Then she surrendered to the prodding of the mediwitch waiting for her under a tent that had been put up in front of the apothecary across the street while the Aurors collected evidence from the rubble.

While the mediwitch performed a series of examination spells on her that glowed in a web of runes and numbers as they ghosted over her head, Hermione watched an Auror lifting the small radio.

* * *

"Hermione, you are neglecting yourself." Harry had his arms crossed as he was leaning against her desk in the Department of Law Enforcement.

"Well, I have a series of terrorist attacks to investigate. What do you suppose I do? Sit at home and play with Crooks?"

She shook her head and turned back to the paperwork she was filing to get access to the results of the examination the Unspeakable had conducted. So much bloody paperwork. She would have solved this case weeks ago if it weren't for all the restrictions and bureaucracy.

"I'm pulling you off the case."

She nodded, signing the sheet at the bottom before fumbling for the big red stamp for classified information in her drawer. "Yeah, sure."

"I'm serious, Hermione. Hand over your files. If you don't leave on your own accord right now, you are suspended for the rest of the week."

She froze and stared up at Harry. His gaze was resolute. He looked like the Harry she had told to go and save Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets as she and Ron had tried to free themselves from the rubble. Determination was Harry's second name. The only difference between the Harry of that day and the Harry standing in front of her now was that she had cheered for him once and now very much wanted to throttle him.

"Don't you dare, Potter." Her voice came out as a hiss. Maybe it was good that Harry could speak parseltongue, she thought distantly through the ire sparking within her.

"Don't 'Potter' me. I am your boss, and you are to listen to my commands."

She stood up, so fast that her chair was pushed back and toppled over. "You will not pull me from this case." Her voice was low; she was an expert in not making a scene. To anyone around them, it would look like an intimate conversation. Except maybe for her chair laying on the ground like a coy that had jumped out of the pond. Some eyes flitted towards them at the noise, but her colleagues knew not to be nosy.

She stepped closer to Harry. "You will not take away everything I worked on for the last three months."

"I won't if you just listen to me and take a day off as I ordered." He looked pissed now. Oh, long gone where the times when she could be as intimidating as Snape and manipulate Harry into following her lead. She should be proud, really. He had grown up.

"What the fuck do you think this will do? It will throw the whole investigation back for days!"

"I don't care. What I do care about, however, is that you take care of yourself. Hand over your badge to Tony. You'll get it back once you've taken a proper rest."

"You will regret this, Potter."

She stomped off, knowing she had lost to Harry. There was only one person more thickheaded than herself in this office and sadly, that person was her superior, former war hero and head of the Auror Department, Harry Potter.

She pulled her badge from her belt and let it drop on Tony's desk. "Don't you dare get a spot on it."

"Of course, Auror Granger." Tony ducked his head under her heated gaze and quickly filed a receipt for her badge that he handed to her before he carefully lifted it into a box to be locked away like a naughty kitten banned from the kitchen. "Once Mr. Potter signs this, you can get it back from me," he said, not daring to meet her eyes.

She didn't bother replying and made her way to the Atrium.

* * *

Her flat was empty and dull. Crooks was strolling around with the neighbour's cat more often than staying with her. Hermione suspected that the lady downstairs secretly gave him treats as he had rapidly gained weight since she had moved here even though he mainly neglected the premium cat food Hermione put on the balcony for him.

Her fridge was empty except for a pack of eggs. After eating rice with eggs two days in a row, Hermione felt her irritation spike. She threw the half-eaten food into the trash and waved her wand to clean away the plate and fork. She would not come crawling back to Harry. He would realise soon enough what a mistake he had made. He'd be drowning in work by now. Good.

She threw herself onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. Pressure was building behind her eyeballs and she tried to blink the oncoming headache away. Harry was right; she was severely overworked. But she had a job to do; how could he expect her to rest now?

It had all started with a fire at an old hunting cabin of Neville's grandmother several months ago. Hermione had been the first that had linked the fire to the robbery a week later at Borgin and Burkes. Something in the air had smelled of conspiracy.

Several dark artefacts had gone missing and only with more incidents, others had believed her and started connecting the dots as she had. Some called it gut feeling, Hermione knew it was more than that. It was an instinct that came with knowledge. Something she had taken in with all the books she had been reading since she had first set foot into Hogwarts. Maybe even before that. It wasn't simply a lucky guess to see a pattern where others saw chaos. It was the result of a trained and sharpened mind.

In the beginning, she had still believed this to be easy to solve; a puzzle, nothing more. Leads were followed, arrests had been made. The attacks kept happening.

She needed to end this. She needed to work. Hermione groaned and pushed herself up from the coach to get some floo-powder from the jug by her fireplace.

"Harry Potter's office," she called as she threw a handful of green dust into the flames.

* * *

"I made a decision, Hermione, and you might not like it." It sounded as if Harry had rehearsed that sentence before answering her floo call. She had come crawling back, begging him to let her work again, and now he came with this bullshit.

"Just spit it out." Hermione wasn't one for patience these days and her knees were already aching from kneeling in front of her fireplace. Sometimes she missed good old phone calls.

"I'm pulling you off the case permanently. Getting someone with fresh eyes on it. The press will like it, too."

She attempted a laugh, but it sounded more like a bad cough. "You bloody fool. Since when do you fold for the press? You don't give a flying Snitch about what they write."

"I know. It's more the pressure I get from Kingsley. He isn't happy with there being another attack and no new leads."

"And now you're throwing me under the bus to save your own hide. What a great friend you are, Harry Potter."

He looked tortured, briefly turning his head to the side, the green flames illuminating his profile as he gathered himself. She got it, it wasn't easy arguing with her, she was a pain in the arse. That was the reason she was such a good Auror. She was the best. He was making the biggest mistake of his life and, likely, Harry knew it as well.

"Listen, I don't have much of a choice, they requested Davies to come back from Bulgaria to work on this. He has a good reputation, he has connections."

Hermione glared. "You are aware that he's barging in like a vulture to take over my case knowing that I likely already have everything it needs to solve it given some more time?"

"This isn't about you, Hermione!" Harry pressed his lips together to still his outburst, but Hermione had caught onto the sharp anger in his tone. She swallowed.

"Is it about you, then? Are you afraid of losing your position over this?" She knew she shouldn't poke the devil with his pitchfork, but her pride had taken a damper and she couldn't help the frustration take over the broomstick and steer her right down the bitch lane.

Harry gave her a hard look, the fire enhancing his features in a threatening way. "It's about the people that lost their lives. I don't care if your ego is scratched if you can't keep working on this. I just want this case to be solved, no matter who will finally do it."

Ouch. That had hurt. She felt herself inflate, her irritation giving way to shame. Of course, it wasn't about her career. That was not how she had meant it. Or maybe it was and she was just too self-occupied to pull her head out of her arse and leave the pitch to someone who'd be more successful.

"Come into the office tomorrow," Harry said when she remained silent, trying to gather what was left of her self-assurance. "You can have your badge back. I have a new assignment for you."

"Thanks, Harry," she said, quietly.

"And get something to eat, you look like you've been living on nothing but bread and water."

She grinned a little. "You know me, I'm a terrible cook."

He shrugged. "Take-away then. I need you balanced for this new task."

"Balanced? What does that mean?"

"Bye, Hermione."

"Harry!" But he was gone and the fire in front of her turned orange again.

Hermione sighed and got to her feet. Take-away sounded great. No more rice, no more eggs. Just some pasta or pizza. Maybe, she'd get ice cream from Fortescue's.

* * *

The office was busy, her desk was cleared. Hermione stood awkwardly between the rows of shelves and desks where her co-workers were scribbling away, writing memos or reports. Several men floated towers of boxes into the office Harry had given to Davies. The supercilious oaf got his own office to work on a case that she had already more or less solved!

Speaking of the devil… "Granger! What an honour." Roger Davies was a tall guy with sandy hair that was styled to perfection. He reminded her painfully of McLaggen when he shook her hand with a grip substantiating male dominance and a smile so white it made her gums itch. "I have heard of your hard work, such a pity it hasn't been fruitful."

She shot him a tight smile, not rising to his bait. He knew he wasn't getting her case because of her incapability. "I wish you the best of luck."

"Who needs luck with my skills?" He winked and was gone, off to command the men furnishing his office with her hard work. Hermione lived a short fantasy of squeezing out his eyes to hang them from the ceiling before she shook off the notion and tried to calm herself. Harry wanted to punish her for doing her job, and she wouldn't let it get to her.

She spotted him at the entrance, a Prophet under his arm, his long coat glistening with morning rain. Would it ever stop raining?

"Morning, Hermione. To my office, please."

She nodded and turned abruptly to follow him, refusing to let her gaze linger on the stack of files floating from her desk's open drawers into Davies' office.

Harry settled into his leather chair, propping his elbows on the tabletop in front of him, the tips of his fingers together in an imitation of Dumbledore's infamous posture. Hermione wondered if he did it subconsciously.

It sure helped him command authority — Dumbledore's Golden Boy, the war hero that now led one of the Ministry's most important departments.

"I have a job for you."

Hermione groaned and plopped down into the less comfortable seat in front of him. "That sounds like filing basic complaints, how much further do you want to humiliate me?"

"It's more important than that, although I believe you'll hate me for it and won't talk to me until Christmas..." He sighed and pushed some papers from left to right on his desk, leaning back in his chair as if to create some safe distance from her.

She rolled her eyes. "Spit it out, we don't have all day."

"Fine." Harry tapped his fingers in a nervous habit. Seriously, how unprofessional did he think she was? She could handle a little punishment. "It's still somewhat related to your former case." He made sure to emphasise the former as if to remind her of her current descent from grace. "It's a simple protection assignment of a possible target. You'll be in charge of round the clock security measures. I'll give you two of the young recruits to cover shifts."

Hermione nodded, already thinking of ways she could use this to gather information. Possible target? Did Harry know more than she did? So far the attacks had no discernable pattern, seeming more random than anything else.

Harry looked at her as if he was about to declare the Ten Commandments before he slowly said, "I don't want you to go on a secret investigation or anything. If I hear of any of that, it will have long term consequences for you, Hermione."

She pressed her lips together, biting her tongue to prevent herself from blurting an ill-conceived reply.

Harry took her silence as an agreement or at least refrained from interpreting it as defiance.

"So, who is this person you want me to shadow?"

"He requested assistance after receiving death threats so I'm guessing it's pretty serious." Harry took a deep breath like a diver before his descent. "I want you to accompany Draco Malfoy until we can be sure there is no imminent danger."

"Oh-ho-ho!" She laughed. Then, when Harry didn't entertain her, she sobered up. "You are serious."

"I am."

"What the fuck, Harry?"

He didn't answer and pushed a file towards her instead. Hermione didn't bother taking it, still floored by the sheer audacity of this request.

"Draco-sodding-Malfoy?" She shook her head. "Since when does he need someone to spoon-feed him?"

"He has valid concerns. The attacks have been mainly directed towards the pureblood elite, so we should take this seriously." Harry was all business.

Hermione couldn't take it any longer, rising to her feet to lean over the table. "Ginny will hear about this, I'll make sure of it. This will be a loooong, sexless month for you, Potter."

"Ginny already knows." Harry looked pale, betraying his lie.

"Me? Taking care of Malfoy? What the fuck were you thinking?"

He rubbed his forehead, an old habit of his where every headache was a result of the scar still marring his features. Nowadays, the reason for his headaches was more likely the weather, or in this case, probably Hermione. Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione beat him to it. She was bloody brilliant at her job and he was wasting her talents.

"Fine," she spat. "I'll take it. But you owe me big time for this."

"Don't I always?" she heard him mumble as she was already marching out of his office, file in hand.

Hermione shot down every gaze levelled her way with a death-glare as she made her way towards where the youngsters were sharing a coffee break in the small kitchenette.

"Creevy, Higgs, you'll be working for me from now on," she declared.

Samantha looked intimidated but Dennis sent her a huge, proud smile. "At your service, Auror Granger!"

"Meet me in C3 in five. By Merlin, I need a coffee first."

She massaged her temple as she waved them off. None of the mugs in the kitchenette was properly clean so she picked one that only had some water stains and filled it to the brim with cheap but gloriously strong coffee.

* * *

Samantha and Dennis were chatting when she reached the conference room.

Before entering, Hermione closed her eyes briefly, relishing in the precious few seconds she was alone.

"Do you want to grab a quick dinner later?" Samantha's small voice floated through the gap between door and frame. Hermione smiled, not opening her eyes just yet as she listened. The girl was so obviously taken with Dennis. She had just finished her training, fresh from Hogwarts.

"I'm meeting a friend later, sorry. Maybe another time?"

"Of course!" Hermione imagined Samantha sending one of her wide smiles Dennis' way.

She yearned for their simple hopes and dreams. A crush, a date, dinner after work. That was so far away from Hermione's reality that it hurt. "Are you meeting with Justin?" Samantha asked. "Can you say hi from me?"

"Sure," Dennis replied.

"He lost his job recently, didn't he?"

She could hear Dennis shuffling his feet, clearly shy to tell his colleague about his friend's troubles. "Yea, some time ago," he mumbled. "I'm doing my best to build him up. Having him work on some projects for me to keep his mind off things until he's on the right path again."

"It's good he's got a friend like you."

Hermione took another sip from her coffee, mentally agreeing with Samantha that Dennis was a decent bloke. Then she pushed open the door.

"No time for chitchat, let's discuss the task at hand. Here are the files, you can consult them later. Let's waste no time and get to it."

"Yes, Ma'am," they said and straightened their posture in a hint of a salute. It was good to see they had adequate respect for her.

* * *

After a short briefing, Hermione sent Samantha home to take a rest before covering the early shift for the next day and then made her way to Malfoy Manor with Dennis in tow.

She had only briefly glimpsed at the details in the file, but she knew from experience that personal protection was boring and full of waiting. She'd have plenty of time to dissect what was in Malfoy's file later. Now, she needed to face the dragon. She wondered if Harry had warned him that it would be her taking on the case.

A vicious wind blew around the Victorian towers of Malfoy Manor. The mansion loomed over them like a starving vampire stalking its prey.

"Last time I saw Malfoy in person was at your graduation I think," Dennis said, gazing up the road leading to the manor. "He's been pretty reclusive nowadays."

"Rubbish, he's just not bothering to set foot in the same establishments you frequent. Malfoy is wealthy enough to have his own butt gilded."

Hermione led the way through the gates that were opening for them. There wasn't any indication of life from inside the manor; all windows were closed, the curtains drawn.

A house-elf greeted them at the front door, bowing deeply.

"Please identify yourselves, Madam, Mister," he said.

Hermione presented her badge, Dennis followed her lead, and the elf nodded.

"Follow me, please." He turned and disappeared inside the silence of the house.

Dennis threw Hermione a side-along glance but she straightened up and marched in without indicating any discomfort.

They were led through a long hall, lightened by only a few candles and a few arrays of light peeking through thick, velvety curtains. The decor seemed like straight from a Dracula movie. Nothing much had changed since the war, Hermione noted. She felt sick.

They entered a wide saloon with high windows along one wall and an ancient grand piano pushed into the corner.

"Your Portkey is activating in two minutes."

"Portkey?" Dennis asked, sounding sceptical, but Hermione was secretly impressed by the safety measures Malfoy had taken.

The elf handed her a small amulet on a gold chain and disappeared with a plop the moment it touched her hand.

She frowned down at the jewellery. It was pretty expensive for a portkey. Pulling out her wand, she checked its enchantments, discovering a complex web of identity checks that would alert them at their location and a two-person traveller limit. Malfoy really had become paranoid.

The pendant grew warm in her palm and she quickly indicated for Dennis to hold onto it as well before she felt herself being pulled through the void until she came crashing down onto a thick, oriental carpet, barely able to catch her balance.

Dennis next to her went down with a gasp and immediately jumped up again. Pleased, she noted that he was alert and had his wand in hand within the blink of an eye, surveilling the room they had landed in. The floorboards were a dark oak wood, the same that was used for the Scandinavian furniture — a large table with a single tree trunk tabletop, wooden chairs with leather cushions stretching over the armrests and reindeer fur throws adding a cosy touch.

A whole wall was covered in bookshelves that reached up to the moulding of the ceiling. The walls were white except one that had dark green paint, accentuating the natural materials used for the interior. And, of course, that they had entered a Slytherin house.

"Welcome."

Hermione turned to find Malfoy incarnate standing in the doorway to what looked like a modern kitchen.

She didn't pocket her wand but lowered it to her side. "Malfoy, I've been put in charge of the operation. This is Dennis Creevy." She tried her best to sound calm and professional. She didn't offer her hand though. There was only so far she was willing to go.

He looked sceptical, remaining at a distance. "Can you identify yourself?"

She grinned as she pulled out her badge, again. "Scared, Malfoy?"

He shrugged as he scrutinized their badges, not stepping any closer. "I have reason to."

"I haven't read the files yet," she said matter of factly.

One eyebrow shot high. "The almighty Granger hasn't prepared herself; should I be flattered to be the first subject to cross your way that didn't prove of interest or insulted that you didn't deem the case worthy enough of your attention?"

She snorted. "I have better things to do than read threatening letters. I know what this kind of case entails. Dennis," she turned towards the young Auror, "check the wards, you know the protocol."

"Of course, Auror Granger." He whipped out his wand and started moving along the walls, checking all windows and doors.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked, letting her eyes wander over the elegant sofa with grey cushions. It looked stylish yet cosy with round pillows and a handwoven wool throw draped over one arm. It felt unfitting for Malfoy to live in such a comfortable home, especially when compared to the drafty halls of Malfoy Manor.

"Undisclosed location." Malfoy still hadn't moved, watching Dennis doing his work. Hermione took him in, noting how he seemed to fit into the interior of his home like another pretty piece of furniture. Only he didn't look cosy at all. He looked like he was constantly on edge, the hard angles of his face tense, his eyes blinking at a minimum rate as if constantly alert. He looked tired.

"Listen, if this should work, you need to give me all the details. If you are unhappy about the situation, talk to Harry to get someone else assigned to your case." She definitely could do better things than getting chummy with Malfoy.

"Maybe I should," he said, not looking back at her.

Hermione sighed. "What's with all this paranoia? Why not stay in the Manor? It has pretty impressive wards."

Now his eyes shot back to her. "Maybe you should have bothered to read my file. I am far beyond death threats, Granger." There was a venom in his tone that made her take a step back and then immediately being angry at herself for doing so. She wasn't weak, she could deal with Malfoy.

"Alright, we have plenty of time, don't we?" She strolled over to the sofa and plopped down on it, noting that it was indeed as comfortable as it looked. Maybe it was time to refurbish her own flat a bit. Although, she doubted she could even afford the big glass vase with elegant dried flowers positioned on the side table next to her much less any of the minimalist paintings on the walls.

As Dennis took care of enforcing up-to-standard wards, layering them over whatever Malfoy had cast himself, Hermione pulled his file from her old beaded bag and flipped it open.

Her eyes scanned the first page that held basic pieces of information on Malfoy's current situation, looking for details that she wasn't aware of had changed since their school time. Prat extraordinaire. Bully. Disgustingly rich and bigheaded.

"I see your company is running quite successfully, or should I say companies?" she commented.

"Money makes money, that's how the world runs, Granger." He stepped aside to let Dennis enter his kitchen to secure the other rooms as well.

"Muggle weapons, hm?" She was impressed, he didn't shy away from anything to multiply his wealth.

"Sold that some time ago, as I'm sure the files show. It was a leftover business from my father." He now hovered in the middle of the room, unable to lean against any door frame or appear casual. He was uncomfortable and her reading through his information caused a nervous twitch in his right hand. It reminded her of how he had flinched at his trial whenever one of his crimes had been read aloud.

Hermione lowered her eyes back to the file. She didn't want to be reminded of that time. Too many details of that time in their lives were still vividly burned into her retina.

She refrained from further comments as she skimmed over the general intelligence gathered to get to the case at hand.

Her stomach rolled. "Is that… a house-elf?"

"He was." Malfoy's tone was bitter. He turned away from her towards the towering shelf of books, effectively avoiding her gaze.

Hermione touched a finger to the picture that had been taken with a Muggle camera, unmoving but displaying all colours in their vivid brutality. It was a body, or what was left of it. It had been torn apart piece by piece, spread open in a disgusting act of cruelty and put on display like a dissected frog on a cutting board. The floor tiles beneath what was barely recognizable as a very young house-elf were familiar. It were those that Hermione herself had bled on. She would never forget the pattern of lines marring the polished marble.

She rubbed her scar unconsciously and then quickly pulled the sleeve of her tight, turtleneck sweater further down despite it already covering her wrists.

"So someone managed to get into the manor and since it has been compromised you moved here?"

"Yes."

"What about the elf handing us the portkey?" She shot his turned back a challenging look. House-elves were replaceable to Malfoy, no doubt. He had left the sinking ship with his servants bound to the now forever haunted property.

"Fester will come here after running some errands and making sure he's not traced."

"Oh?"

Malfoy turned and shot her a mocking gaze. "Did you expect me to leave behind my own elf? What would a spoiled, rich prat like me do without house-elves catering to my needs? You should know better, really."

Hermione bit her lip to not rise to his bait. How dare he mock her?

"Auror Granger?" Dennis poked his head out of the door leading to the hall. "All wards have been established."

Hermione nodded, relieved to have a reason to put the file aside and not think about the gruesome fate of the little house-elf for a while. "Malfoy, why don't you show us around the area a bit so we can check the building and surrounding areas for emergency exits and potential risks?"

"I'm not leaving, Granger."

She raised an eyebrow at the stoic man. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I will not set foot out of this property. I would very much like to stay alive."

"You are with two Aurors and we will use disguises, there is nothing to be afraid of."

His lips thinned. "I'd rather be a paranoid coward than dead, thank you."

"Well," Hermione released a theatrical sigh and got up from the couch, "we still have to check the perimeters of the flat. Dennis, you'll stay with Malfoy." With that she marched out of the door, squeezing past Dennis and then moved towards what was an obvious entrance door at the end of a long, softly illuminated hall.

The door was heavy as she pulled it open, massive wood that wanted to contain whatever was in the flat and keep out anyone that tried to breach it.

On her way out, she magicked her short, curly hair that usually played around her chin into sleek locks falling down to the middle of her back and changed the key features of her face, deciding on a slightly darker complexion with large, doe-like eyes and a thin, sharp mouth.

* * *

After circling the property and checking the surrounding streets, Hermione found a nearby park and settled on a bench, finally breathing free. Her breathing had been strained, her body tense, and it had taken her everything to appear at ease in that flat.

She hadn't seen Malfoy for years. But he still had the same effect on her as he had in school.

The chestnut trees smelled of warmth and comfort. They smelled like childhood, of collecting colourful leaves and putting them between newspaper pages and then weighing them down with her beloved books. She wasn't that child anymore that had sat with her parents in their living room, reading and drinking hot chocolate.

Hermione tried to remind herself that she wasn't the child she had been in school either. She wasn't the bush-haired, buck-toothed swot some schoolyard bully had made fun of. She resented how deeply that wound still cut, how it made her feel less than. While facing Malfoy, she had felt how she had to restrain herself from checking that her hair didn't stand out in an offensive way, ensure that her voice was strong and her posture straight, confident. Inside, a little girl trembled and wanted to hide from the world, wanted to not be looked at and judged because she knew she was imperfect and awkward and friendless.

She opened her eyes, let her head fall back against the bench and watched grey clouds move across the sky. A laugh bubbled up. How ridiculous she was. It was downright hilarious that Draco-sodding-Malfoy still made her feel like a child.

She chuckled to herself. "You are fucking pathetic, Hermione," she whispered to the sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished this story already :) it's currently in editing and I'll publish the chapters regularly.
> 
> Thanks to my beta love Noori for speed-editing this chapter :3

When she returned to Malfoy's flat, she found Dennis browsing the file she had left by the sofa.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Cooking."

She did a double-take, but Dennis had a straight face, absorbed in the details of the case files he was reading through. "Malfoy? Cooking?"

"Hm," he hummed, turning a page.

That was when she noticed the smell. It was subtle but when she took a deep breath, her mouth instantly watered.

She decided it was time to casually inspect the flat and check out what Malfoy was doing.

Pushing open the door led towards the kitchen, she stopped short. Whatever she had expected, it wasn't Malfoy in a steel-grey apron meticulously cutting spring onions while what looked like a green curry bubbled on the stove.

She tried to come up with a witty thing to say, to taunt him, but she found herself speechless.

"Never seen someone cook before?" Malfoy drawled as he finished the onions and sweeped them from the cutting board into the pot with one fluid motion of the knife.

Hermione found her tongue again, "Hadn't expected you to stoop down to such manual tasks."

He shrugged and she hated him for being so unfazed, so cool about it. He should feel embarrassed at being called out doing something so… so girly. "I enjoy potions, it's quite similar to that only with a little more improvisation."

She snorted. "And here I thought you'd just been spoiled rotten by Snape all those years."

"Positive encouragement does help develop talents, you know?" He smirked and once again, Hermione was reminded of how unfair everything had been when they had grown up. That constant feeling of being wronged, of being left behind for something she couldn't influence, for being a Gryffindor, a girl, a Mudblood.

Where was her usual confidence? She had found a balance in life, hadn't she? Hermione felt off-kilter, like she had been bewitched. Years of growing as a person, gaining self-assurance and leaving her past behind became undone within minutes of being in Malfoy's presence.

She left the kitchen, settling back on the sofa next to Dennis. This would be a long, boring and grueling job.

* * *

She was surprised when Malfoy started setting the table in the living room for three people.

She had come prepared with a few sandwiches, but the smell of the curry was heavenly so she followed Dennis' lead to sit at the table with little reluctance.

Dennis dug into his food with gusto. "When did you learn to cook, Draco?"

She shot him an irritated glance to let him know that she expected him to stay professional, but Dennis didn't seem to register what he did wrong.

"It's pretty boring to stay here all day." Malfoy was the perfect example of a well-raised gentleman with a straight posture and a delicate grip of his chopsticks. Hermione didn't even bother and grabbed a spoon instead. "I tried some recipes before, but Fester didn't let me experiment much. I finally got him to share his recipes with me now. Took some convincing though. House-elves don't like relinquishing responsibilities."

Hermione scoffed.

Malfoy pursed his lips in irritation. "If you'd bother to listen to house-elves, you'd realise that they take honour in their work, Granger. They don't want to be saved by some self-entitled witch that knows nothing about them or their culture."

"Just because they know nothing but servitude and have no other prospects in life, doesn't mean that they don't need someone to stand up for them."

"So _you_ know what's best for them? Maybe you should let them decide that themselves."

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. Then she tried again. "So, if they really wanted to, could they do something else?"

Malfoy shrugged. "No one would actually pay them, but they are free to do what they want if they think they can survive on their own."

"So they don't really have a choice, do they?"

"Do you have the option to just quit your job and do whatever you want instead?"

"I happen to like my job."

He smiled mockingly and made a sweeping gesture with his chopsticks. "If that's what you tell yourself. Maybe it's just the only thing you know, servitude to the Ministry."

The curry suddenly tasted sour on her tongue and she dropped her spoon.

Malfoy sighed. "Everyone is a slave to the system, Granger. I think what you are proposing are equal opportunities for everyone, but let's face it, that's not how society works."

"Because some are less than?" she challenged.

"Because humans are self-centered beings that are dependent on stability and a purpose for their own sanity. If you have the option to be free but risk a civil war or to remain within a restraining system where most people live a happy life, which would you choose?"

Hermione actually thought about that. Then the image of the dissected elf in Malfoy's file sprang to her mind, the newspaper articles of pureblood estates in flames, the murdered lawyer who had defended Death Eaters at their trial. "Maybe someone else is making that decision for us at the moment," she said quietly and picked up her spoon again. "I don't like it, if that's what you want to hear."

Malfoy didn't answer and Dennis looked between the two of them, trying to make sense of the tense situation.

When Malfoy cleaned away the dishes after they had finished the rest of the meal in silence, his house-elf appeared out of nowhere.

"Fester will clean this," he declared and grumpily ripped the plates from his masters' hands.

Malfoy shot her a look as if saying, _I told you so._

"Why don't you just get a bodyguard, Draco?" Dennis asked to cut the silence. "You clearly can afford it?"

"I don't trust many people anymore."

She scoffed. "So you trust us?"

He looked up at her. "At least I know there will be consequences if you murder me in my sleep."

"Harry must still hold some childhood grudges if he unleashes me of all people on you."

"He sent his best woman, didn't he?"

Hermione didn't quite know what to do with this backhanded compliment.

"Feel free to read any of my books, I have some work to do," Malfoy declared and moved into what Hermione assumed to be his office.

She really needed to get to know this place. She had no wish of walking in on anything she didn't want to see. Several doors led from the hall, but it was hard to tell what was behind which door.

"Dennis, where did you set up place?"

"Oh, there is a guest room Draco said we can use, with bathroom and all."

"Okay, show me the wards you set up."

"Sure." He jumped up, excited to present his work as he led her through the rooms.

There were two bedrooms, each with a bathroom attached. Hermione stayed at the threshold of what was clearly Malfoy's bedroom with books stacked on the nightside table and a woolen throw covering one corner at the foot of his bed. Other than that, it had little personality, but somehow it felt so distinctly Malfoyish that she didn't feel comfortable entering the room.

Their guest room had a little less decor than the other rooms, but was furnished with two separate beds and a set of towels and soaps at the foot of each of them. Probably Fester's work, Hermione assumed. It was a nice gesture, it felt a bit like a hotel room. She had been forced to sleep in worse conditions on the job. The Ministry was quite stingy when it came to housing its employees.

Further down the hall was a lounge with leather sofas facing a fireplace and an art nouveau cabinet turned into a minibar. Opposite to that was Malfoy's office where he scribbled a letter, the door slightly ajar, allowing only a peek at his back and a wide row of windows facing towards the park Hermione had been strolling through.

Hermione grabbed a book from Malfoy's impressive collection and settled on one of the guest beds. It was barely noon and she was already restless and on edge. How long would this operation run? She hoped it would be over soon because either the case was solved, or she'd be the one murdering Malfoy herself just to bring an end to her suffering and step happily into the cold embrace of Azkaban.

* * *

When the street lights outside turned on, Hermione donned her cloak. "Dennis, I'll be on my way. Sam will come early in the morning so you can go home and sleep."

"Aren't you staying?"

"I have some work to do. Crooks needs food and Harry owes me an update on the case. I'll come for breakfast tomorrow so you can leave."

"Alright, see you then!"

Hermione was relieved to finally leave the flat, a portkey in hand that Malfoy handed her on her way out. She dropped it off at the office for Samantha and scribbled a short note to Harry who had already left to ask him for any progress on the case. Of course it was ridiculous to assume that Davies could do anything in a day when Hermione herself had practically treaded water for months.

Her bed at home felt familiar but cold. She switched on the heater with a flick of her wand, but somehow the dry warmth wouldn't quite settle in. She dreaded the next morning.

* * *

Beside the Daily Prophet, a pile of letters lay on the massive wooden table in Malfoy's living room, all opened. Hermione took one and looked at the sender.

"I'd prefer if my correspondence remained private."

She jumped and turned to find Malfoy in the doorway of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. He was dressed casually in jeans and t-shirt. A strange view. It wouldn't quite fit with the image she had of him.

"They were open." Hermione said as if explaining herself.

"Fester checks their contents and any spells put on them before bringing them here."

"You don't get mail to this flat directly?"

"I don't want to risk an owl with a tracking spell. This location is undetectable."

"Impressive. You're doing my work for me. This is basically a holiday."

He smiled, not unkindly. "I hope it's pleasant."

Hermione didn't quite know what he meant so she didn't reply.

"Did Dennis leave already?"

Malfoy shook his head. "He's still taking a shower, I think."

She waved with the paper bag she had brought from the Tesco near her own flat. "I brought some croissants." After being treated to his cooking the day before, Hermione had felt like she needed to return the gesture to be even again. She didn't like being indebted to Malfoy, even for something so small.

"Thanks. Coffee?"

She nodded and watched as Fester appeared to set the table, not having any of it when Malfoy tried to help with the plates. "Master Draco has to sit and eat, Fester has to work."

"I'm an adult, you know? You don't need to spoon-feed me any longer." Malfoy retorted, but she could swear that she saw a good-natured smile playing at his lips. At Hogwarts, Hermione had never seen him so at ease, so in balance with the world around him. It had been a constant struggle for recognition and attention with him. Now he held a calm aura that made her envious.

She settled opposite to him and poured herself a large cup of the heavenly-smelling coffee Fester brought. With unease, she noted how their position at the table made their legs nearly touch, how intimate it felt.

To distract herself, Hermione reached for the copy of the Prophet lying between a plate with freshly cut fruits and a basket full of hand-baked bread, mocking her cheap discounter croissants.

Malfoy didn't seem to mind as he neglected the fresh bread for one of her crumbly pastries, smearing a thick layer of jam on it. Hermione scrunched her nose. She couldn't eat anything sweet for breakfast. Usually it was coffee on an empty stomach for her to feel the full effects of caffeine rushing through her system. It was simply a matter of efficiency. No use in diluting good coffee with food.

She opened the politics section of the Prophet, skipping over the social affairs and more sensational front page. Her gaze landed on a picture of her. Next to a picture of Malfoy. "Fuck. Me."

"Excuse me?"

She looked over the paper at Malfoy, who had raised both his eyebrows, pausing in devouring his croissant that had already disappeared halfway.

"What?" She blankly stared before her own words registered. "No, not... " She looked back at the paper. "What the actual fuck?" She ignored Malfoy's confused stare and jumped up. "Dennis!"

Rumbling sounded from down the hall and then a disheveled-looking Dennis with wet hair emerged as he pulled his shirt over his head. "Auror Granger! You're already here."

"What is going on, Granger?" Malfoy asked, getting up as well now and trying to get a hold of the Prophet. She pulled it out of his reach.

"Did you tell anyone about this job, Dennis?"

Malfoy grumbled at her from across the table, but Hermione ignored him, advancing on Dennis.

"No, of course not!"

"And Samantha, would she tell anyone?"

"Never!"

"Then why the hell is my name in the papers?" She pushed the Prophet at his chest where _Auror_ _Granger guarding the Malfoy Heir_ was printed in big black letters together with a picture of her walking out of the Ministry.

* * *

As Malfoy refused to open his fireplace to the floo network, Hermione had to apparate to her flat to floo Harry and grill him about the article.

"What the hell, Harry? I'll look like an idiot to the whole wizarding world now!"

He rubbed his forehead, pacing his office in front of his fireplace. "We don't know who leaked the information. The thing is, it could just be someone who is stupid and can't keep their mouth shut when gossiping about office affairs, or it's a serious security breach."

She sobered. Of course, this could turn the whole case on its head. What if there was a mole inside the Auror office? That would undo months of work!

"Please tell me you have suspects." The green flames tickled her cheeks and she impatiently slapped them away.

He shook his head. "This is a mess. I'll have to go to the Prophet, though I doubt they'll tell me anything. Protection of sources and such…"

"Let me back on the case, Harry."

He turned towards her with a glare. "No. You defied my orders to take a break. I won't tolerate that from my Aurors."

She opened her mouth, but he beat her to it. "Don't give me that look. Either you work with Malfoy or it will be a suspension. You choose."

"How dare you," she grumbled but pulled her head back and leaned back on her knees, rubbing her eyes as she watched the green flames die as the connection broke.

Sighing, she pushed up and collected her bag to apparate back to Malfoy's flat. She had zero patience to face the prat now, but it was her job and she'd never seen Harry so serious about a threat. She didn't know what exactly the deal was; she didn't need him playing Molly with her. She could take care of herself and didn't need any mothering.

* * *

She pushed past Malfoy who somehow decided to stand in the middle of the hall, not moving an inch aside.

"What did Potter say? Is this bad news?"

"Damn right it is," she mumbled. "Nothing we can do 'bout it. Sit back and relax, Malfoy. Not your job."

"It's my concern though, isn't it?" he asked, following her into the living room.

She sighed, turning around and finding him way too close for comfort. "As I said, nothing we can do. Let Harry do his job. He'll handle it."

He tilted his head, not stepping back from her in the dark hall. She didn't want to give in, so she stood her ground. "Wouldn't it be your job, considering you are working on the case?"

"I'm not, remember? I'm babysitting you." Hermione didn't wait for a reply and pushed open the door to the living room to get away from him.

"Auror Granger?"

"Just call me Hermione, Dennis," she said absentmindedly. Then she looked up at him sitting at the dining table with confusion. "What are you still doing here? Hasn't Samantha arrived yet?"

"That's-that's what I wanted to say. She should have been here two hours ago…"

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I thought she was reliable."

"She is! That's why I'm worried. Sam's never been late to anything."

"Have you contacted the office? Maybe she called in sick?"

"Can't, there's no floo connection."

"Yeah, right…" She glared at Malfoy. "Can you hold out a little longer? I'll get in touch with Harry again to see what's going on."

"Sure, just getting tired."

"Sorry, Dennis. I'll be back quickly and then you can go home."

* * *

This time, she went straight to the office.

"Hermione," she was greeted by Penelope, Harry's secretary, straight away. "There's been an emergency, a missing Auror."

"Please don't tell me it's Samantha Higgs."

Penelope nodded. "Harry is currently in an appointment with Mr. Shacklebolt. The Minister is not happy."

"Well, I need a replacement then."

She ignored how Penelope sniffed at her practicality. Of course it was dramatic when an Auror went missing. But why should she give this more attention then the sixty-nine other missing persons that they hadn't been able to find in the last three years? Also, she had a job to do, and Hermione hated doing a bad job.

"I'm afraid there's currently no free Auror. Harry has put together a search team to investigate and try to link it with Davies' case."

Her nails practically reeled. This was _her_ case. Davies had just swooped in to finish what she had begun. "Fine, tell Harry to let me know once someone is free."

She hurried out to get back. Dennis would need his sleep as they were now covering all the shifts between just the two of them. He'd also be worried about his colleague. The two had gone through training together, Hermione knew, and Dennis had a soft side that prevented him from advancing his career to get his own team and cases. He worried too much about people, threw himself in the line of things instead of managing others and distributing tasks.

He was a good teammate and that's why she had chosen him. Hermione liked the boy.

* * *

After sending a worried-looking Dennis home with the promise to relieve her the next morning, Hermione settled down in Malfoy's living room. She toed off her shoes, deciding she'd needed to get comfortable. She couldn't wear her shoes the whole day even if it made her itchy to walk on the same floorboards Malfoy walked on with bare feet.

She propped up her feet on the couch, a book from Malfoy's collection in one hand while twisting a lock of her hair around her finger and then pulling it straight before letting it bounce back.

Malfoy settled into the armchair opposite her on the other hand of the couch table. "Your hair is shorter than it used to be."

"It's called getting a haircut."

"Suits you."

She glared at him. Compliments from Malfoy were unwelcome. "Maybe you should think about getting one too."

He swept a hand through his locks that tickled his chin. "I actually like it this way. Makes me look adventurous, no?" He smirked in a way that could nearly be interpreted as flirty.

"Makes you look like your dear Daddy, that's all."

His smile fell and Hermione felt a twinge of regret. She bit her tongue, hoping to quell that feeling. He didn't actually look like Lucius Malfoy. He had grown out of his daddy's boy look, especially when compared to the picture the Prophet had published of a haggard looking Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban.

Malfoy was right; longer hair made him look like one of the explorers of the new world in the glorious paintings that depicted them. It didn't diminish his aristocratic look, however, which was more than just the angle of his cheekbones and the edge of his jaw. It was in the way he carried himself, how he looked at things with his chin tilted slightly upwards; It was the way wealthy and influential people carried themselves as if their money made them float a little bit off the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut is yet to come, but bear with me :D Let me know how you liked it.


	3. Chapter 3

After Dennis had relieved her of her duties late in the evening, Hermione walked to the little park outside Malfoy's flat and apparated home.

Crookshanks sniffed at her when she put out a big bowl of cat food for him. "Come on, it's not my fault I have to work so much."

He turned his backside to her, presenting her with his butthole.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little workaholic, but at the moment it's Harry's fault."

She was exhausted despite not doing much during the day. Kneading some tension out of her shoulders, she pushed a frozen pizza into the oven.

She switched on the telly, chewing on a slice. It tasted soggy. Damn Malfoy and his perfect cooking. He had already spoiled her taste buds. She still couldn't fathom how Draco Malfoy of all people was a decent cook when she couldn't even make an edible omelette.

Hell, he even had a better taste than her when it came to interior design. Hermione didn't own much. Her parents' stuff, memories and trinkets had all been burned during one of many attacks in the war. She had made the right decision to send them to Australia.

Somehow, between working too much and not giving a fuck, she had never bothered to hang anything nice on the walls. Her only cactus had shrivelled up months ago and was still standing on the window sill as a sad reminder of her inability to put effort into her home.

Her books were the only treasure she kept, and she kept many of them in more shelves than should be in a two-room flat.

She was practical; her home was for sleeping and eating. The rest of her life was spent at work. And recently at Malfoy's place, which, thank Merlin, was a nicer home than hers and way more spacious too.

* * *

Far too early the next morning, she apparated back to Malfoy's flat, bringing some of her books and her wireless along to occupy her time.

_I'm not saying that I approve of their means, but I think we all have to admit, that the activists are telling a piece of truth that we have tried to ignore for too long._

Hermione stopped her search for an interesting radio programme when she recognised the voice of Gerald Gladstone, an oppositional politician. She leaned back on the couch and listened intently.

_What do you mean by that?_ the reporter interviewing the man probed.

_Well, purebloods have been at the top for so long that our whole societal structure is defined by their power, effectively disabling anyone who doesn't conform to their norms from social advancement._

She felt Malfoy creeping closer, leaving the kitchen and moving into the living room, like a breeze touching the back of her neck. She got claustrophobic in this flat with him lurking around all the time. Of course there was nothing he could do about it, it just really started to grate on her.

_We can look at what happened right after the war, when society had been turned on its head, this did not prompt a revolution, but a regression to old norms which were the essence of the fighting in the first place. Instead of replacing ministry functions with neutral, capable citizens who are loyal to all of wizarding Britain, we voted for Minister Shacklebolt, a pureblood from a very old family._

_But Mr. Shacklebolt has fought against Voldemort and his pureblood agenda._

_But is he still fighting that? That is the question we have to ask! Another example; the Malfoy family has been well respected for centuries, even now with their dark past revealed to the public, we let them remain in power, allow them to dominate our finance market and own several businesses. If you walk along Diagon Alley, a fifth of the shops are owned by none other than Draco Malfoy._ The _Draco Malfoy, who we all know has a Dark Mark on his forearm, who may very well be responsible for the death of several people._

"Can we switch that off, Granger?" Malfoy sounded annoyed.

Hermione ignored him.

_He was cleared of all charges brought against him,_ the reporter argued.

_Yes, but on what ground? Flawed reasoning! He didn't walk free because he is innocent, but because we couldn't find enough proof of his wrongdoings!_

"Enough!" Malfoy ripped the radio from her hands and smashed it against his bookshelf with so much force, several books fell out and landed on top of the broken remains of the wireless.

For a moment, everything was silent except his heavy breathing.

"Malfoy…"

He abruptly turned and left the room, the door slamming behind him like an enraged exclamation mark.

Hermione slowly walked over to where the radio was lying, its antenna bent, the small handle broken. She sighed and, with a swish of her wand, the books flew back into their place on the shelf and the radio repaired itself.

Harry would tell her she should have been more considerate, but who would have known that Malfoy had such thin skin? She frowned. It wasn't acceptable that he reacted that way towards her. He wasn't a schoolboy any longer, and there was no Professor Snape around preventing him from getting a detention for his transgressions.

She marched after him. He couldn't treat her like dirt anymore, she decided.

She found him in his bedroom. It was weird because she hadn't yet seen him in that room and somehow, having him there added an intimacy that left a sticky feeling on her skin.

He sat on the bed, face in his hands. Hermione faltered at the threshold. He looked small. She knew he wasn't; he towered over her more than she liked to admit and even sitting bent over didn't take away from the width of his shoulders. But he was so closed off, turned in on himself as if everything around him was vast and endless, like the nucleus of an atom, impossibly small with a tiny universe of electrons circling it like vultures.

"Malfoy…"

He flinched and straightened up so fast that she nearly took a step back. His cheeks were pale and hollow, his eyes tired. "What do you want, Granger?"

She wanted to tell him off for smashing her radio, for shouting at her, but, and she hated to admit it, the look in his eyes was like that of a young boy, reminding her of Ron's son Frederick when he had broken his new his toy broom, waiting for Padma to run to him, assure him it was okay and dote on him. He looked so troubled in that moment.

"Are you okay?" Even that small sentence felt like an intrusion, as if she had taken a step closer, put a hand on his shoulder. She felt like she had overstepped a boundary and now there was no turning back.

"I tried, you know?" A deep frown marred his features as he stared at the Persian rug below his feet. "I started a foundation to secure more equal opportunities. School supplies, tutors, arranging internships…" He rubbed his forehead. "I even got some people to donate money, all was running well, but —"

"But what?"

His face hardened, and she could see that he closed himself off again.

"Nothing."

Hermione frowned. Something was subtly probing at the back of her mind, but she couldn't quite grasp what it was. She had never heard of this foundation. "Don't worry about the radio, I repaired it," she said to fill the silence when it became apparent that he wouldn't say more.

She left, unwilling to delve deeper into the psyche of Draco Malfoy. On her way out, she could swear she heard a quiet 'I'm sorry' leave his lips.

* * *

They developed a routine where Hermione would come in the morning, staying during the day, and Dennis came in the evening so she could go home to sleep. She was glad that she didn't have the night shift; she was much more productive during the day. Harry had begrudgingly allowed her to bring some paperwork from the office. She had never enjoyed going through files so much. She even helped out on her old case a little, filing death threats and searching the letters sent to various people of more or less importance over the last few months for clues or a secret code.

She didn't bring her wireless again and contented herself with reading the Prophet instead.

It happened just two days after the Prophet had published that picture of her next to Malfoy's. Samantha was still missing, Davies hadn't found any new leads, Harry was stressed and Hermione reluctantly enjoyed the casserole Malfoy had made for lunch.

"You like it?" he asked, watching her dig in with gusto.

"It's okay." She shrugged, slowing down maybe a little bit. She didn't want to admit that his cooking was the best she had had since maybe the last Christmas at the Burrow. That hadn't been for at least three years. She hadn't been welcome anymore, no matter how hard Ron tried to persuade his mother. But before that, she had still been part of that family and therefore on the receiving end of Molly's cooking skills.

"That's a high compliment coming from you."

Hermione dropped her fork. "I'm not here to boost your ego, Malfoy."

"I didn't mean to offend you." He frowned. "Just meant to make some conversation."

That's when Hermione realised how lonely Malfoy must be. He never left the flat, didn't even ask if he could. He sent letters via his house-elf, the only companion he seemed to have. Fester was caring but grumpy, not really someone to talk to more than a few words a day. No friends ever visited.

During the days Hermione spent there, they didn't talk much. Malfoy worked a lot, cooked nice things; that was all he did as far as she was aware. Dennis got along well with him. He was easy-going, held no old grudges like Hermione.

"Okay," she said, taking pity. "Let's talk."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well? What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know, anything." He cautiously watched her as if waiting for a trap to close. "What do you usually do? Besides working?"

"Not much, tough job." She didn't have much of a private life and wasn't ashamed to admit that. Malfoy was working more than anyone she'd ever known, even compared to her.

"Weekends?"

"Don't know, more work, I guess."

He leaned back in his chair. "Come on, there must be something you do? When was the last time you went out?"

She pondered that. Only one thing came to her mind. "Freddy likes to go to the zoo. Sometimes I take him when Ron and Padma want a day on their own."

"Freddy?"

"Their kid, he's two now."

Malfoy nodded slowly, taking another bite of his casserole. "Why did it never happen? You and Weasley?" he asked very casually. Maybe a little _too_ casually.

"I cheated on him."

"You… oh."

"Yeah."

"He found out?"

"I told him and broke up."

"Wait, _you_ broke up with _him_?" He seemed intrigued now.

"Don't you think this is getting a little personal?"

"Not at all, it's the most interesting piece of gossip I have heard in maybe ever. And Pansy was the queen of gossip at school."

Hermione pulled a face. Why exactly did he have to bring up Pansy Parkinson?

"So who was it?"

"Not telling you."

He pursed his lips. It was fascinating to see him come to life over a simple conversation. Hermione felt she should be uncomfortable sharing those details with him, but somehow it was thrilling, seeing what Draco Malfoy thought of her fucked-up life. It was easy to tell him because she didn't care about his opinion, she thought.

"Then tell me why you broke up with Weasley. I mean — it wasn't the love of your life considering you're an old cat lady minus the old at the moment. But in school, you were always glued together at the sides."

"Well, thank you very much."

He continued looking at her.

Hermione sighed dramatically. "Ron would have forgiven me anything, refusing to acknowledge that it didn't work out. He's too loyal for his own good sometimes. I couldn't live that lie any longer. I made a good decision for a good friend. He's happy now, so I don't regret anything."

"But are you happy?"

"What?"

He shook his head. "You need to be selfish sometimes, Hermione."

"Don't call me that."

"We're sharing secrets, I think we're on a first-name basis now."

" _You_ didn't share any secrets, _Draco_."

He quieted. "I don't want to get into legal troubles."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, wanting to probe, but she was interrupted by a silver light bursting through the closed window.

She had her wand pulled in the blink of an eye as did Malfoy, but she slowly lowered it when she recognised Harry's Patronus.

"Hermione, your house is burning." The silver stag nervously pranced in a circle and then dissolved.

She blinked a few times, slowly sat back down and pocketed her wand.

Malfoy was still standing where he had jumped up at the sudden intrusion, now staring down at her.

Picking up her fork and knife, Hermione started eating again. It really was delicious. Maybe she should tell him, it couldn't hurt to give him a small compliment for his cooking, could it?

"Granger?"

She looked up. "I thought it was Hermione now?"

"Are you — are you going to leave?"

She looked puzzled. "Why?"

"Didn't you hear Potter…" he interrupted himself.

Hermione suddenly felt like throwing up what she had just eaten. Was the food bad?

"Are you alright? You look like the Grey Lady."

Her stomach rolled and Hermione jumped up, barely making it to the toilet where she threw up.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione didn't leave. She had a job to do. If she left now and something happened to Malfoy in the meantime, she'd lose more than just her good reputation. So she waited.

They sat at the table, not really looking at each other, not talking. It was tense. She tried to form words in her mind to cut the silence, to get back to what they had before, what could nearly be called banter. But her mind was beyond words, it was as if she had forgotten how to form syllables, as if her brain had disconnected from her mouth. So she didn't try and neither did Malfoy.

They waited for nearly an hour until the door opened, revealing Dennis. He cancelled the spells disguising him as a middle-aged gentleman, resembling George Clooney maybe a little too much.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry it took me so long, I —"

"Nevermind," she was already half out the door, donning her coat as she hurried down the stairs until she could finally apparate right in front of the building's doors, simply hoping that no one saw her.

* * *

There were a dozen Aurors and even a few Unspeakables and Curse Breakers fighting against the flames licking at the facade of the housing unit where she had rented a flat. Fiendfyre, she realised with shock.

No wonder they still hadn't put it out yet. Fiendfire had the power to burn whole cities to the ground.

She pushed through a row of onlookers, reporters and Muggle firefighters who Ministry Obliviators tried to remove from the scene.

In short, it was a mess. People were shouting and running, the fire was sizzling and smoking as raindrops evaporated in the heat that radiated even to where Hermione was standing, feeling like sandpaper on her cheeks.

There was no way Crookshanks had made it out of that alive.

The wall right beside the entrance was still standing. It was a miracle that the whole building hadn't been reduced to ash yet. Ugly graffiti marred the bricks.

_Death Eater Whore. Traitor._

She was freezing, despite the heat emitting from the house that was now slowly crumbling. Her coat was soaked from the rain that just wouldn't stop and her body trembled like a destabilized racing broom.

"Hermione?" someone called.

She turned, but couldn't make out where the voice came from. "Harry?"

"I'm here, right here." And there he was; disheveled hair, his glasses slightly askew on the bridge of his nose and in his arms...

"I have him, he's alright, 'Mione."

She stretched out her arms. "Oh, Crooksie."

Harry chuckled and handed her her little furball that looked like a drowned rat and even more dishelved than Harry.

"Scratched open my whole arm, the little devil."

She chuckled, squeezing Crookshanks to her chest who was now contentedly purring. "He's just mad at you for making me work so much."

" _Me?"_ Harry chuckled. Then he turned serious. "I'm glad you weren't home."

Gazing up at the flames which finally succumbed under the shared effort of the witches and wizards fighting it, Hermione nodded. "Me too."

The last remains of what had been her home crumbled, remains of the fundament sticking out like blackened teeth.

"Please let me back on the case."

"No." Harry glared at her. "Don't manipulate me, Hermione."

"You know I can do a better job than Davies!"

"Not anymore. Now you're personally involved." He pointed at the remains of her home.

"But not involved enough to babysit Malfoy?" Crookshanks started squirming in her arms, sensing her irritation.

"I'm not discussing this with you right now."

"Fine, I have a job to do, I'll see you around." She turned to leave.

"Wait! You need some place to stay, our guest room is always open if you need it?"

"No thanks, I'd rather sleep on Malfoy's couch."

Sometimes, she could really be petty. She hadn't been fighting with Harry like this for ages. It hurt, but at the same time her pride prevented her from giving in, from just accepting that he was her boss and could move her around like the pawn she was.

Deep down, Hermione knew she resented Harry for being head of the department. It had been her ambition to get there. But she was a woman, she was a Mudblood. Or how others framed it: She was simply too good at her job as an investigator to take any other role in the department. Trollshit. The glass ceiling had spikes cutting into her skin every time she tried too hard to get to a higher position.

But he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the war hero, the top Auror (who had never solved a case without her help, but that wasn't what the Prophet deemed newsworthy). Of course he'd be head of the department.

She hadn't always been an Auror; this wasn't the first career she had tried to advance in and failed. She had dreamed of being Minister once, had started in law, worked closely together with Harry on his cases, had written legislations and slowly crept closer to the seat of power. Because she had ideas, she had ambition, she knew she could _change_ things.

When Kingsley had been reelected, she had asked to attend the Auror training and move departments. She couldn't find it in herself to not congratualte him, to not be happy for him, because he was a friend. Just like Harry was a friend. Both of them deserved their positions. But were they the best person for the job? Had really all alternatives been considered when it came to their promotions? Hermione questioned that she had ever had a chance. Her name had been brushed aside, a mere mention in back-room meetings where neither women nor Muggle-borns played any role.

* * *

This was how she found herself on Malfoy's doorstep, messy hair weighed down by the rain, Crookshanks cradled in her arms.

She set him down when he started squirming and immediately, he zoomed through the hall and found a comfortable place in Malfoy's of all rooms.

"What is that?" Malfoy stood in the door to the living room, looking after her cat. "What did you just drag into my house?"

"It's just until I find a place for him to stay." She shrugged out of her coat that clung to her frame.

Malfoy pushed his bedroom door open and glared at the orange fur ball that had settled down on the duvet covering his bed. "Take it away, Granger."

She sighed and pushed past him. Hermione was tired; fighting Malfoy was not something she wanted to do right now. "Don't be so dramatic, he's just a cat."

"Hermione," Dennis said, looking up from the book he was reading on Malfoy's sofa. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, thank you, Dennis. You can go home now."

"Alright, see you then." He left with a smile. "Bye, Draco."

Hermione went into the kitchen and prepared tea. That would hopefully calm her nerves and warm her up. Deep down, she felt like something within her had frozen over, as if the fiendfyre had brought an ice age in its wake that now settled deep into her charred bones.

There was nothing left to go back to anymore. She had no home.

"You can't just bring your monstrous cat with you, Granger!" Malfoy barged into the kitchen. "What in Merlin's name is going on here? What happened at your house?"

"Not that it is any of your business but someone decided to burn down my flat. Nothing more, nothing less."

"People don't just set fire to houses randomly and by chance pick yours."

"Believe what you want to believe, Malfoy." Hermione tried to ignore him, but he invaded her personal space, taking the cup of tea from her hands and setting it on the counter with a little too much force. There was a deep furrow between his brows.

"Either you tell me now, or I will know from the Prophet tomorrow morning." It sounded like a threat.

She wondered what had happened to the amicable relationship they had developed. Something had seriously unhinged him, and he reminded her more of the school bully he had been at Hogwarts than ever before. Hermione fought the urge to take a step back. Instead, she raised her chin in defiance (and to a degree because it was the only way she could actually look him in the eyes seeing as he was quite close now). "I guess you'll have to wait until tomorrow then."

Had she not been still frazzled herself, she might have tried to analyse his sudden change in attitude, but maybe his former politeness and nearly teasing conversing had just been the facade of boredom after being locked up in this flat for days.

* * *

Hermione had gotten rid of Malfoy by locking herself into the guest bathroom, taking her time to shower and wash the remaining soot from the ashes off her skin.

She started to regret telling Harry that she preferred Malfoy's couch (or rather his guest room) to Grimmauld Place, but still she wrote a short message to Dennis, letting him know that he could get a few extra hours of sleep and free time for covering her shift.

She turned her face up into the spray, relishing in the hiss of the water rushing past her ears. It was wonderfully deafening, muting the world around her for a second and taking all those things she didn't want to dwell on with it. She allowed herself only a few seconds, after all she needed to stay alert. She was still doing a job.

Settling onto the guest bed, dressed in more comfortable clothing, Hermione was glad she had packed some things for her stay with Malfoy before all her belongings had turned to ash. At least she didn't have to go naked.

Crookshanks grumpily pushed through the door and jumped on her bed, massaging her thighs with his claws before settling down with a contented purr.

* * *

She woke up with a start to banging on her door. _Damn_. When had she fallen asleep? She wasn't supposed to fall asleep on the job, no matter how long she was up.

"Granger, open up." Malfoy banged on the door again, and Hermione pushed a cranky Crookshanks off her lap, stretching her sore back as she crawled off the bed. She felt not rested at all, her feet were freezing too, despite her still wearing socks. She hadn't even pulled the covers over her and had just fallen asleep in her comfortable sweater and slacks.

She pulled the door open to find a very irritated looking Malfoy in front of her. "What happened?"

"I want someone else."

Puzzled, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "Someone else, hm?"

"Clearly you are unfit to protect me, when you can't even keep your own home safe from these terrorists," he grumbled, shoving the Daily Prophet at her. The reporters had managed to snap a picture of her house in flames before it had crumbled to dust. The graffiti was clearly visible, smeared across the wall next to the entrance door. _Death Eater Whore._

She swallowed and swatted the paper aside. "Fuck off, Malfoy. I'm qualified enough for babysitting."

"I won't —" Hermione pushed the door shut, having had enough of this pointless conversation, but the wood wouldn't budge.

"Listen here, Granger." Malfoy gave the knob a strong push, forcing her backwards and intruding on her space. "I won't just sit around and wait for them to come and burn me next. Take your devil of a cat and get me someone more competent."

Crookshanks chose exactly that moment to purr around Malfoy's legs and squeeze past them to pad down the hall.

Hermione sighed. "Feel free to contact Harry; I'd like nothing better than passing this job onto someone else. But if you really think you can find someone more competent anywhere in the Ministry… well, you can try." She didn't bother trying to close the door again, refusing to take part in this childish door-pushing with Malfoy. Instead she dismissed him by turning her back, looking through her small bag for some clothes to change into.

As she started pulling off her sweater, her back still turned towards the door, she heard him awkwardly clear his throat and seconds later, the door clicked shut. That was easy, wasn't it?

* * *

As the sun started to rise, squeezing through the clouds and reaching with few forlorn rays towards the earth, Dennis came to take over from Hermione.

He brought some deliciously smelling croissants with marzipan filling, but Hermione didn't feel like having breakfast with Malfoy at the moment. Instead, she scooped up Crookshanks and left in search of a new temporary home for him.

* * *

"I owe you big time, Luna!"

"Oh, it's nothing, Hermione. He is very welcome here." Luna sent her a brilliant smile and twirled in her canary-yellow dress as she plucked bugs from her Dirigible Plums left and right from her entrance door. "I think he will like the Snarkle paste I made yesterday. I might even make him a pansy crown to keep his Fur Blobs healthy," she chattered on, more to herself than to Hermione.

Silently, Hermione sent an apology to her Familiar that sat perched on Luna's doorstep, giving her a desperate meow as Luna plucked him up and carried him inside.

"Thank you again!" Hermione called with a little wave. She watched Luna disappear into the house shaped like a giant rook. "Bye Crookshanks," she called and then disapparated to the Ministry.

* * *

Harry proved overall very unhelpful. No leads had been found towards who had cast the Fiendfyre and Samantha was still missing.

"Have you considered that Samantha might be a mule and has disappeared, knowing that she would be on the list of suspects if she were still around? After all, besides you, Malfoy and me, Dennis and Sam were the only ones knowing that I'm assigned this case."

Harry shot her a glare as he sat down heavily in his chair. "Stop it, Hermione."

"I'm just saying that we need to consider all possibilities, Harry. Otherwise we're leaving ourselves vulnerable to biases."

"If you're arguing like that, I'd have to put you on the suspect list as well. You could have set fire to your own home to distract from yourself."

She waved him off. "Obviously. If you'd actually read my files, you would have known that I put my name on the suspect list since the very beginning."

He spluttered into his coffee mug. "You are suspecting… yourself?" He shook his head. "Maybe I should send you to the healers. I think you're developing a personality disorder."

"I merely made sure that my detectives researched my alibis. After all, we are suspecting a group of Muggleborn activists to commit these crimes."

"Wait, we're suspecting _all_ Muggleborns in this case now?"

She shrugged, bitterness coating her tongue. "Racial profiling is hardly a new thing, Harry. Kingsley demanded I do it."

Harry frowned. "I don't like it."

They fell quiet over that. Of course Hermione had been angry when Kingsley had suggested it. Half-blooded witches and wizards could just as likely be behind the attacks. But she was merely a mid-level Ministry worker, a Muggleborn who had no voice that counted.

"Hermione, you should take some rest, you look like you could fall asleep on the spot."

"Yeah."

"Grimmauld Place is always open to you. I think Kreacher would love some company now that Ginny is on her world tournee and I'm working 24/7…"

She felt a twinge in her chest. "I'm sorry that I'm so difficult sometimes, Harry. It's not your fault." Hermione rubbed a hand across her eyes. They were burning from lack of sleep and the light in his office prickled on her retina like pins. "I'm just so frustrated with this case and with… everything."

He smiled at her. "I know. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, the day will look brighter."

* * *

The next day, it was raining. Again.

The clouds hung so deep, she couldn't even tell if the sun had set already as she pulled the curtains of Grimmauld Place open. She had slept the whole day, knocked out like a drunk returning home early in the morning just to get up when the day greeted the night. From now on, she'd take the night shift it seemed.

Her stomach grumbled when she reached Malfoy's doorstep and despite still being irritated by his demand to get a replacement for her, she hoped he had cooked something nice.

"Did you make sure no one followed you?"

"Hello to you too, Malfoy." Hermione paused at the door to pull off her boots.

He was standing at the threshold to the living room and kitchen, wearing his ridiculous apron again. At least that meant there would be some kind of food.

"Potter denied my request," he grumbled.

She gave him a mocking smile. "Seems like you're stuck with me then. What a pity."

He sighed and pushed his hair out of his face. It looked good, messily sweeped back like that. It fell softly around his face, the tips tickling his shoulders just barely. "It's not like I can't stand you —"

"Oh, isn't it?" Hermione pushed past him, annoyed that she felt jealous for his hair.

"— Damn, Granger, not everything is about you. I don't want to die, if that's so hard to understand."

"Hi, Hermione!" chirped Dennis, carrying a casserole dish from the kitchen to the dining table.

"Hi, Dennis, how's it going?"

"Ah, nothing much happening really. Around noon a pigeon crashed into the window and Draco nearly shit his pants, but that was the highlight of my day really." He laughed. Hermione felt like hugging him, he was such an adorable dork.

Malfoy didn't seem to like being ignored and sat down with a huff.

"I'm starving," Hermione announced, thanking Dennis as he piled a huge amount of casserole on her plate.

"What's the news? Did you check in at the office?"

"I did, but Harry won't tell me anything about the case. They've found no sign of Sam so far."

Dennis shook his head, grief flashing across his usually cheery face. "I wish I could be out there looking for her."

"I know, Dennis."

They ate in silence for a moment, each lost in their own dark thoughts.

"Oki-dokes, I have to go home," Dennis announced after shovelling his plate empty in record time. Not even Ron had been able to inhale food at this rate back in Hogwarts, Hermione thought, impressed.

"Bye, Dennis." She gave him a little wave as he and Malfoy exchanged a nod.

Then they were alone.

"What will you do about your home?" Malfoy asked.

Slowly, Hermione chewed the bite she had just taken and swallowed before answering, "I don't know yet. Guess I'll have to look for something new, but I don't really have time for that now."

"Seeing as I'm not getting a replacement no matter how incompetent you seem to be, you're welcome to use the guest room. You're here for half of the day anyways."

That was a surprisingly kind offer, even if he had delivered it in a really unkind way. "Thanks, but I'm staying at Harry's for now," Hermione said. "Contrary to you, I can't stay locked in here all the time. I tend to get a little claustrophobic."

"I wouldn't be here if I had any other options."

She helped him clear the plates and clean the kitchen, but Fester quickly pushed them out into the living room to clean the dishes himself.

"Tell me, Malfoy —"

"I'm still fine with Draco, by the way."

" _Draco_ , why are they out to kill you? What did you do that got them so fixated on you? I mean, you're a Pureblood, obviously, and a…"

"Death Eater?"

She waved at him, settling on the couch. "Yeah, whatever. So why you now?"

"I don't know, maybe because I am a Pureblood and a Death Eater?" he mocked her.

Hermione pursed her lips. Her mind wandered back to his file, the pictures of the poor elf that had been torn to shreds and then artfully spread out on his drawing room floor. They hadn't bothered with threats so far; why start now and with Malfoy of all people?

He had grabbed a book and settled into the armchair next to her, appearing to relax, but under her scrutiny, she could make out a faint twitch in his jaw.

Hermione trusted her gut feeling; she had razor sharp instincts (except maybe on grumpy mornings when she hadn't had her coffee and was waiting for annoying shop clerks to fix her one just before they were burned to a crisp in an explosion she narrowly escaped herself).

Malfoy — Draco — was hiding something.

* * *

Draco disappeared into his room after an hour or so, leaving Hermione alone in the living room. Somehow, the flat seemed even quieter at night than it was during the day. As if the curtains swallowed sounds just like they swallowed the lights from the streetlamps outside.

At one point, Hermione pulled a soft blanket from where it was casually yet artfully thrown over the back of the sofa over her legs and curled up to get comfortable. Breathing deeply, she focused her mind on her research of the last few months, mentally browsing through detail after detail of her notes. Harry might not give her access to the case files anymore, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to draw conclusions without them.

She was rather good at getting lost in her own thought process, but she remained alert, and when she heard a door click open down the hall, she pulled out her wand without even needing to think. This was second nature to her, she was trained for this and she had fought in a war before that.

Steps creaked along the floorboards in the hall.

He stopped in the doorframe and looked at her. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

Hermione pushed herself up on the couch, putting her wand on the coffee table. "It helps me think when my eyes aren't distracted." She felt uncomfortable now. Never had she seen him in such a casual dress with only a white shirt and grey sweatpants. This was not the Draco Malfoy she knew but a more personal, intimate version, and being exposed to this side of him felt like a boundary she shouldn't have crossed.

"Tea?" he asked and she nodded.

He prepared two cups and they sat together on the couch.

"We can turn on the lights." Hermione suggested. She didn't really want to, the darkness was comforting. The curtains still allowed some light from the street to shine through the window, illuminating the room just enough to see the outline of his profile.

"Better not, don't want to kill the last chance of getting some sleep tonight after all."

Hermione blew her tea, waiting for it to cool while warming her hands. "I'm really good at my job, you know that? Just because my house burned down doesn't mean you are in any more danger than before."

He looked at her, his eyes glinting in the dark. "I know, Potter was quite clear about it."

"You talked to Harry? When?"

Malfoy cringed. "He sent a howler. He's still the golden boy defending his little…"

" _What_?"

He cleared his throat. "You know… his Gryffindor princess."

She put the mug on the table with a little too much force, pulling her hand back with a hiss as the hot tea trickled over her fingers. "Listen, Malfoy. You were a bully at school, but I'm not the same little girl you can go around and mock anymore. You should be very careful with what you say or you will deeply regret it."

"I didn't mean to — you are twisting my words now."

"I don't need you to say it for me to know that you still think I'm not worth the dirt under your shoes," she hissed. Her fingers burned, the skin feeling tender, but she was too proud to cast a cooling charm.

He opened his mouth, but Hermione pointedly turned away.

"Fine. If you want to be a bitch about everything I do and say, suit yourself, Granger. Just do your fucking job then and be miserable."

She felt her blood boiling. "Prick."

He either ignored her or hadn't heard her as he was retreating back down the hall.

* * *

**Big thanks to Nora Fares for beta reading :3**

**As you can see the tension between Hermione and Draco is high hehe. Next chapter will have some more juicy bits!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: this chapter contains smut :D

The next few days were tense. Malfoy seemed to be suffering from severe insomnia. Either he was working in his office or walking a hole into the wooden floor of his flat. Hermione found joy in reading through his collection of potions and alchemy books. She left in the morning as soon as Dennis made an entrance to sleep at Grimmauld Place and occasionally visited Harry at the office.

After a while, she decided she couldn't keep crashing at Harry's place any longer. Specifically, when Ginny returned and Hermione walked in on her and Harry doing, well, whatever betrothed people did upon being reunited.

In lack of any alternatives, she stayed in Malfoy's guest room. He didn't seem to mind, and she wasn't even sure if he noticed. Hermione tried her best to avoid him, spending her free time in Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron or sleeping.

It wasn't any particular day, not to Hermione at least, when he came to the living room to fetch a cup of tea again.

She glanced over the top of the Prophet she was reading. "Merlin, it's four in the morning, don't you ever sleep?"

"Not if you start nagging me about it."

She got up and followed him into the kitchen, switching on the light, satisfied with the knowledge that it would hurt his eyes. "I'm curious, what keeps you up at night? Any childhood sins haunting you until morning?"

It was a low blow, but she didn't feel like being nice. She was bored and that wasn't a mood Hermione much cared for.

"Don't tell me you are too afraid to sleep. Scared of the dark, Malfoy?"

He bared his teeth at her, looking positively feral. "You saw the pictures, what he did! You wouldn't be sleeping either if you came home to that."

"What _he_ did?"

"He, she, they. I don't know." He evaded her eyes.

"You do know, don't you?" She rounded him. "What do you know, Malfoy?"

"Nothing."

"Don't fucking lie to me, ferret."

He snapped his mouth shut and glared at her.

"What. Do. You. Know, Malfoy?"

"I know that my house-elf has lost his daughter, finding her shredded to pieces where he had to wipe the blood of Voldemort's victims off the floor."

Hermione flinched, taking a step back as if he had hit her.

"Yes, I'm fucking terrified, Granger." His hand was trembling, and he set down the mug he had taken from the cupboard. Flexing his fingers, he tried to gain control over the tremor, but gave up and leaned against the counter heavily.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, and only then Hermione realised that she was clutching her forearm as if her skin would be peeling off if she let go. "I'm sorry I didn't — when my aunt, I —"

"Stop." She couldn't listen to this. "I don't want to hear it." It hurt.

The light was cold and punishing, illuminating every crack and imperfection of their facades.

"I know," he whispered.

She pulled the sleeve of her blouse back, exposing the pale skin of her forearm to the light. "I have bled, but I'm not a victim," she said. She needed to say it, she needed to remind herself. "I don't need your pity."

Mudblood. Her arm was trembling, her breathing heavy. Mudblood.

He extended his hand, and somehow she didn't pull away. Somehow she let him touch it, touch her, and it didn't hurt. It should have hurt, after all he had been the first who had branded her with this word, had cursed her existence in his world. But his touch was cool and soft as a whisper.

And then his hand closed around her arm, and he pulled her closer, and she looked up into his eyes knowing she would lose herself in them if she didn't look away.

Her heart was a sad cage for empty emotions, holding nothing that could fill it with substance. There was little meaning in what she allowed herself to feel. It rang hollow when his fingers stroked her rips, the echo in her chest exposing the vacant emptiness.

But when he kissed her, her lungs were noisy, breathing of anger and wanton and hunger that her heart didn't — shouldn't — contain.

Maybe she should show patience with him as he whimpered against her lips, swallowing all of those phoney emotions she pushed into him, but she took what he gave her and all that he was reluctant to offer. Taking his hand, she sucked his fingers, the index first, grazing the tip with her teeth, digesting his scent, scratching his head and chest, looking for cracks in his perfect, perfect mask in secret admiration.

Maybe she should show sympathy for his inner turmoil, for being filled with so much when she was just empty, but such sympathy was wasted on his impervious marble shell.

How should she get through these walls he had built? Perhaps she couldn't or she shouldn't, at best she could explore the scratches left behind by others on the outside, the scars and bruises that told of his fights and struggles but not of his virtues and fears. Perhaps she should turn her back on him, give him one last kiss and then pull away, leave the kitchen and the flat and never return.

He picked her up then, and as she wrapped her legs around him, she thought perhaps she could find a place for him, could fit him on her shelf with other unsolved cases. She could then return for another try, another taste of sweet ire that she could pour into him like honey over his lips and onto his eyelids that she peppered with kisses.

She more felt than saw them move through the hall, unwilling to open her eyes to the harsh reality of what they were doing as she tasted his neck where his pulse was beating like drums in a dragon race.

He lay her down onto his bed with care, gentle and patient as she pulled him with her, not willing to give up the warmth of his chest pressed to hers. The weight of him on top of her was filling her with a delicious heaviness that took up space in her heart and made her feel as if there was something substantial, more than a sponge soaking up water that could be wrung out again.

While kissing her chest, right above her ravenous heart, he freed her of her blouse and sighed against her exposed flesh.

She pushed upwards, against his hot mouth on her breast, her fingers tangled in that wonderful hair of his. And she was sure she moaned his name, his given one. But she couldn't be certain because her ears were filled with the echo of her starving heart, screaming and begging for more.

He undressed her with slow, agonizing patience until she took over, pulling his shirt over his head and pushing his pants down his legs, opening up to him to show him all of her hollow self, asking him to fill her to the fullest so she wouldn't feel so empty anymore.

He held her with certain hands that held no trace of the doubtful trembling in her thighs as he pushed into her and assured her that nothing felt as satiating as the taste of his tongue on her lips.

As he pushed into her, his hand stroked over her stomach, down to her sex, touching her with the urgency of a drowning man reaching out towards heaven one last time in a bittersweet farewell before he let go and let himself be absorbed in a deep sea of pleasure.

Hermione felt her climax like a wave surging against a dam, and she was ready to let herself fall, her walls crumble. But he groaned her name and she opened her eyes, watching his face instead as it tensed, fine lines around his eyes, a soft moan on his lips, his hair sticking to his temples.

He came, but she remained wanting, insatiable. She scolded herself for attempting to fill the vacancy inside her with him of all people. But she couldn't fault him for seizing the opportunity as she had done the same.

He collapsed heavily on her, catching his breath for a moment. Then he moved, pushing up on his forearms, a drowsy yet troubled expression on his face.

Sighing, she pulled him back down, stroking his hair from his eyes as she held him to her chest. She had learned from Ron that men were like pitbulls, needing reassurance and comfort despite their rough exterior.

After a while, she felt him relax, his shoulders slumping a little, his breathing going deeper. He had fallen asleep.

Slowly, Hermione wiggled out from under him, doing her best to not wake him up. He looked exhausted, even in his sleep, and she realised that he probably was suffering from severe sleep deprivation judging the last few days. He had been barely sleeping in the time she had been there.

A sense of pity crept into her stomach, settling there like stale bread.

She pushed the notion aside and stepped into the bathroom adjourning Draco's bedroom. It felt like an intrusion, a place she shouldn't be at.

Her hair stood in all directions, even more so since she had cut it just below her chin. The curls looked nice and soft this way, even if they were a little wilder than before, but in a good way. She patted down the mass of curls, watching in the mirror how they sprung back into place.

Then she stepped into the shower, letting the warm water caress her body briefly before she turned it to ice cold until her breath came in gasps. Finally, the wanting hum in her bones eased as her body jumped to survival mode under the freezing spray and she stepped out of the shower to towel off.

Wrapping the towel around herself, she tiptoed back into his bedroom. Draco was still fast asleep.

She sighed and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. This would lead to a big mess. Harry would find out probably, Kingsley would know next, and she knew the rumour mill in the office was ruthless. This was the end of her career, a career that had never really taken off.

Curiously, she didn't even feel panic. She definitely didn't feel shame, and that was weird. It was Malfoy, for heaven's sake. The insufferable prick that had made her suffer in school, had watched her being tortured, had everything she would never have.

She turned a little, watching his peaceful face. He was pretty, but the tiredness around his eyes didn't even dissipate in his sleep. She found it hard to bend her mind around the concept of him lowering himself to someone like her. But he had, without hesitation. If he didn't care that she was Muggleborn any longer, why couldn't everyone else stop minding? Why did she still get comments that she wouldn't understand a concept or a tradition because she hadn't grown up with it, that maybe they should send another Auror to the old lady who had been mugged because she wouldn't talk to her?

He frowned, twitching from a bad dream. A lock of hair fell over his eyes, and Hermione pushed it back with more appreciation for his longer hair now than she had before. It suited him, softened the edge his face had always had in school. Though, maybe it was just that he had lost the constant scowl he had used to shoot her way.

She figured she should get dressed and resume her position in the living room. If someone were to try and attack the flat now, that would put her in a very uncomfortable position.

She picked up her clothes from the floor and turned to the door when she accidentally brushed against a stack of papers and letters on his nightstand. In a flutter of rustling pages, they sailed to the floor.

"Shoot," she whispered, turning to Draco, but he was still fast asleep.

Being as quiet as possible, she collected the papers to put them back into order. It was all kinds of payment checks and company records. All of them with different numbers highlighted. Hermione had checked a lot of those for her last case on an illegal Niffler smuggling ring that operated through a toy-broom store to launder the money.

She wondered if Draco had any skeletons in the closet, every company had them somewhere. Unable to keep her curiosity at bay, she peered at the papers while she put them back into order. They were all focusing on transactions to some foundation named Muggleborn Education Trust, and about the foundation's expenses. It didn't take a genius to see that the numbers didn't add up, that some transactions had been made three or four times. There definitely was a bad pumpkin at work in that foundation of his. Lucky for him that he had noticed, judging from the angry pink highlights he had made to the numbers.

A letter slipped from the last pages she picked up. It was ripped open and a photograph peeked out. Her conscience did a pathetic little whimper as she pulled it out. Hermione had always put knowledge before morals, so she ignored it.

She had to squint, not quite understanding what she was looking at. The picture wasn't moving but that was due to the objects depicted that lay in a big crate in some cellar vault with brickstone arches. The objects, rounded with a cusp on one end like a pine cone, looked strangely familiar, but Hermione couldn't pin down where she had seen them before and what exactly they were there for.

She pulled out the short letter, more a note than anything, and frowned at the messy script of painstakingly drawn characters, each with a little gap between them as if a child had written it.

 _Master Malfoy_ , it read.

_I has taken this picture of what I has found in the cellars at the Burnham office. I will send more of the pictures later, because there is something I still need to investigate._

_I hope Master is happy with the work I did._

_Your always loyal Ophelia_

_PS: Ophelia sends her love to Papa Fester._

Ophelia, that had been the young house-elf she had seen in the pictures of Malfoy's file. Fester's daughter, who had died… Hermione looked back at the picture in her hands and her eyes widened.

 _Impossible_ , she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my beta Nora Fares! :3
> 
> Let me know what you think of this new development!


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione scrambled off the floor and quickly pulled her blouse and pants on. She needed to get this to Harry as soon as possible.

"I'm not throwing you out, you know?" came a throaty voice from behind her.

She whirled around to the bed, drawing her wand. "Stay away."

He blinked up at her, his eyes still heavy from sleep. "Are you going to hex me now? You wanted it just as much as I did." He pushed up into a sitting position, the sheets skimming down his naked chest in a way that drew her eyes.

"Did you kill her?" she asked, pointing her wand at his face now. "Ophelia, did you do that to her?"

He looked at her puzzled. "What?" Then his eyes glided over the letter in her hand. "No, Granger, listen." Panic filled his voice. "I didn't — it's not how this looks, I —"

"Shut up!" His mouth clicked shut. "These are bombs, aren't they?" Hermione waved the picture. Of course she had seen them before, though not in their unused state but as empty, burned out shells, pieced together by the Aurors.

This was a fresh batch, ready for the next attack on an unexpecting shop owner or an unprotected family home. They could be charmed to look like regular objects or be completely invisible and go off at a pre-set time. They were deadly, filled with fiendfyre and dragon teeth.

"Yes," Draco said, swallowing visibly. "I found that the records didn't add up and money was missing. I sent Ophelia to check because my presence at the office would have alerted whoever did this. She found them."

"You're saying you have nothing to do with this? Why should I believe you?"

He shook his head, his gaze dropping away from her. "I can't prove anything. Potter would have been the first person I would have told otherwise."

"What happened then?" She wanted to hear it. If he told the truth or not was to be seen.

"I realised that something didn't work out at MET." He pointed to the reports she had stacked. "I told you about it. Muggleborn Education Trust; I set it up after the war."

Hermione vaguely remembered him talking about it. She hadn't really taken it seriously at the time.

"I sent Ophelia to check what is going on there after the office closed. No one was supposed to know she was there. I got her letter when I was at a meeting in France. I guess that saved my life because when I returned the next day, she was dead."

"So someone found out that she was looking for evidence of embezzlement?"

He shrugged. "That's what I think. I alerted the Aurors and went to check the office, but the cellar was empty, and someone took the business reports. I knew then that I didn't have any proof that I wasn't involved. Who would believe me?"

"Harry would."

"Well, it's not like I could be certain he didn't hold any grudges from our past. I was sure he would arrest me on the spot, and when I realised he didn't hate me like everyone else does, it was too late. Waiting so long to reveal what I found isn't exactly standing in my favour."

She regarded him. Draco had always been a bad liar, no one had taken him seriously when Buckbeak had supposedly broken his arm in third year and now that she looked at him, all she saw was defeat.

"Can you stop pointing that at me?" he asked, eying her wand. "I'm not going to attack you."

She let her wand drop to her side. "Put on some clothes; I'll take you to the Aurors' office."

She left the room, collecting her thoughts as she waited in the hall with her back to the wall across his room.

He had put on casual slacks and a shirt, looking more polished than she could remember seeing him since she had first stepped into his flat. "Please don't do this."

"This is important evidence," she said, waving the papers she had taken from his room. "You can't really expect me to not hand them over and wait for more people to get killed?"

"They don't lead anywhere, Granger. Believe me, I have tried to pin it down to someone, it's impossible."

"It could have been someone working for you!"

"Or someone could have just been imperioused and obliviated, which would put the investigation in the same place as before. I cut their money flow, so hopefully they won't have the funds to do anything for a while."

"And then? What if they find another source for money? Every day that the Aurors don't have this information, might be a lost day in the investigation."

"Please, you have no idea what this will mean for my life. I can't — I can't afford this."

"What do you mean?"

"Even if Potter believes I'm innocent, I'll get charged for holding back evidence. The press will find out and it will tear me apart for all to read. I'll lose everything I fought so hard to maintain since the war reparations took half of my business. I'm close to bankruptcy already..." He looked deeply ashamed when he muttered the last words.

Hermione sighed. "What do I do with you?" It was more a question to herself because she felt that she had grown a soft spot for the man looking like he had failed in every part of his life. When had she let him get to her? She shouldn't feel like this, she couldn't afford to be soft. She had dreams, ambition; she wanted to be somewhere someday so she could change things, make the world better. Soft feelings and pity wouldn't get her there. She had to man up and prove that she was worthy of a higher position, otherwise she would never get there.

She searched his eyes for an answer that she was reluctant to find within herself. "Get some sleep, we'll talk about this tomorrow."

He closed his eyes briefly and a long breath left him along with the tension in his shoulders. "Thank you."

"This does not mean that I'll let you off the hook!" she clarified. "You will give me everything you have and then I will decide if we need it for the investigation or not."

Draco nodded. "Okay."

Hermione pushed away from the wall and for a moment she was hovering between him and moving away. Insecurity played around his eyes, subtle and easy to miss, but she had seen it on him before and knew to interpret it. It was something she only noticed because they had spent years seeing each other on a daily basis, no matter how antagonising their relationship had been back at Hogwarts.

A strange gratefulness flooded her when she realised that she believed that he was innocent.

When her fingers touched his cheek, the surprise in his eyes were mirrored by her own. But only for a second until the warmth seeped from his skin to her cool fingertips and drew her in like a cosy hut entices a wanderer to take a rest from during a blizzard.

Her heart hummed contentedly when she allowed herself to rise to the tips of her toes, pressing her lips against his briefly.

Before he could reach for her waist to pull her closer, she stepped away. "Don't worry, I'll figure something out. They didn't call me the brightest witch of her age for nothing."

She herald his low chuckle behind her as she left towards the living room.

* * *

When Dennis came, Draco was still asleep and Hermione left with a heavy feeling in her stomach. She wished desperately that she still had access to the case files. But she doubted that Harry would let her look at them without a good reason.

She went to look at Draco's MET office in Burnham street, her face still charmed unrecognisable so she wouldn't draw attention.

The building was nestled between a police station and a cheap hotel, not standing out in the Muggle neighbourhood. The office was on the second floor and quite small, judging the layout of the narrow brick-building. She looked up at the windows from the street and spotted an Indian-looking woman watering a fern in one of the apartments above. All in all, the building looked completely unsuspicious.

She stepped into a narrow cobblestone alley and disapparated out of sight from prying eyes.

She went to a Muggle pharmacy, purchasing a morning after pill and then entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky. After taking some Galleons out of her Gringotts account, she bought a stack of contraceptive potions, just for the sake of it and some new clothes as she had lost most of hers in the fire.

Harry had offered her to apply for support from the victim fund the Ministry had installed, but Hermione had enough savings to not qualify for government money. It wasn't much, but at least the floor of her vault was more or less covered in coins. She wasn't a big spender so the meagre Ministry salary had never bothered her much.

When the sun rose higher in the sky, plaguing her eyes with crystalline brightness, she felt tiredness settle into her bones and apparated back to the little park near Draco's flat. She snuck into the guest room, not alerting her presence to Dennis and Draco chatting in the living room.

Not having her own home to sleep in had become decidedly awkward with the most recent developments. She hoped Draco wouldn't tell Dennis about their little tryst, but she wasn't too worried. He wasn't the man to gloat, not like he used to be in school. It was one of those facets of him that seemed to have changed like a snake shedding its skin, leaving behind the old, itching scales to reveal a cleaner, more comfortable exterior.

* * *

She slept until she felt herself being shaken awake. Sitting up abruptly, she found Dennis standing above her with a shy smile. "Sorry for waking you. I have to go a little earlier today, Hermione. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure." She patted down her hair, still a bit bleary eyed. "Give me five minutes."

Dennis nodded and left her to get dressed.

"There's some Chili con Carne on the stove," he said while shrugging into his long coat as Hermione stepped out of the guest room.

She wrinkled her nose. "Maybe not for breakfast, but thanks."

He chuckled. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Night, Dennis."

She watched as he transfigured his features and then disappeared through the door.

Dennis was a good boy. She wondered why he didn't have a girlfriend yet. He was quite handsome and just the guy you'd want to have around you to always be cheerful. Maybe he was more interested in guys? She remembered he was meeting with a guy named Justin quite frequently. On the other hand, she had seen him flirt with some of his female co-workers, so Hermione was pretty certain that he had a thing for petite birds that laughed at his jokes while playfully hitting his shoulder at his more crude remarks.

Hermione felt strangely protective of him, as if he was a little brother. He had had a tough time after the war. Colin's death had wiped that easy-going smile off his face for a year and a half, and only when Harry had asked him to leave the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office to join the Auror squad in times of need, he had started to thrive again.

Most former members of Dumbledore's Army had joined the Auror squad at some point. Especially now that the Ministry was recruiting like mad to enforce stability in a time when another bomb could go off at any moment.

She walked through the hall, stopping briefly at Draco's office to peek through the gap of the door. He had his back to her, a stack of papers in front of him.

Deciding to leave him some time before she'd deal with the new information she had uncovered last night, Hermione made herself a strong coffee and buttered a toast. The Chili con Carne smelled absolutely delicious, but her stomach wasn't ready yet for anything substantial.

She hadn't heard him enter the kitchen which was why she nearly dropped the knife when a hand snaked around her waist. "Holy shit, Draco!"

"Why so jumpy?" he murmured into her ear, pulling her against him.

She twisted around, finding herself now chest to chest with him. "Listen, I'm not your cuddly Pygmy Puff. Don't think you can get your hands all over me just because we had sex one time —"

He pouted. _Actually pouted!_ It threw Hermione off a little. "Won't you grant a man some enjoyment in his final hours of freedom? This might be the last human contact I have before landing in Azkaban for the rest of my life." He was playing it up, and Hermione patted his cheek mockingly.

"You'll live, Draco. Now get off me." She pushed against his chest until he reluctantly let her squeeze past him and out of the kitchen.

"Your rejection hurts me deeply, Granger," he called as he followed her. "I thought about you all day, even got Creevy to leave early, and now you don't even want to be in the same room as me."

She rolled her eyes, his self-confidence was annoyingly charming. "Be careful, or I'll take you to Harry faster than you can say 'legal consultation'."

He sat across from her at the dining table, leaning forward on his forearms and watching her with an amused smile as she waited for her coffee to cool down a little while munching on the toast.

"What's gotten you into such a good mood?" she asked sceptically.

"I might have found a way you don't need to report me while also finally getting some much needed sleep after having been lucky enough to spend the night with a decidedly sexy woman who didn't even hex me afterwards."

"I have to correct you," Hermione said, still chewing and making a point of being as unsexy as possible. "Dennis is a man."

Draco snorted.

She finished her toast and regarded him more seriously. "What did you find that might get you out of this mess without a stint to Azkaban then?"

"I found the person who ordered the ammunition and stored it in my Burnham office. At least I think I did."

Hermione put down her cup and leaned forward. "Spill."

"Finch-Fletchley, does that ring a bell?"

Hermione shrugged. "Might have heard that name before."

"He's been in our year at Hogwarts. He was working as an event planner for MET, taking care of PR."

"So what's the deal with him?"

"I went through my personal files and schedules and was able to narrow the suspect list down to him."

"How can you be sure?" Hermione was sceptical, this seemed far too easy.

"I only have five people working there. So I thought I'd go through all suspicious transactions, you know, the ones you already snooped through—"

"Get to the point, Draco."

He smiled at her impatience. Waving his wand, he summoned a small stack of folders, spreading them in front of her. "Derek Dickson has a sick mother to care for. He's only working part-time at the moment which disqualifies him for the 8th and 9th of September where the transactions take place at noon." He pointed towards one of the beige folders where a CV was peaking out with Dickson's name at the top. "Then we have Sadie Baldock and..."

He continued listing three more employees and their varying sick days, vacation or family anniversaries. "We're left with Fletchley who's been in office for all of the highly suspicious transactions that I'm sure indicate embezzled money and most of the ones I'm not 100% certain about."

Hermione squinted at the numbers he pointed out and located the dates on a calendar he had drawn with all his employees' leaves marked.

"You think he's likely to do something like this?"

He shook his head. "I don't think he's the kind of guy who'd have the guts."

"Well, there could be countless explanations. Maybe he was imperiosed, or blackmailed or he's just a really good actor... Whatever it is, you can't expect me to keep this information from the Aurors' office."

"But we can—"

"We can make sure this information gets put to use and that those terrorists are stopped, Draco. Twenty-one people have died already. How much longer do you want to wait?"

"You don't get it, Granger. You won't find him."

She raised her eyebrows.

"You're not going to like this," he warned.

"Shoot."

"I let him go some time ago. I have no idea where he is now, but Fester checked his flat today and it's vacant."

"Maybe he just went out?"

"Unlikely, there weren't any personal belongings… I told Fester to keep watch, but I don't think Fletchley will show. He probably disappeared, knowing that I'd find him eventually."

Hermione shuffled on her chair. "I don't like this at all. Why did you fire him in the first place? You said you let him go some time ago?"

He shrugged. "I had to cut the costs and he wasn't doing the best job either. You need connections to work in PR and he… well, he's not really in the right social circles."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that code for he isn't a pureblood?"

He groaned. "What should I have done? You can't raise money without connections."

She snorted. "Don't you see the irony of a company trying to help underprivileged members of society to get jobs and then letting go of someone just because he didn't have friends in the right positions?"

He pushed away from the table, running a hand through his hair. "Don't you think I realised that already?" His voice was agitated. "I tried my fucking best!"

"No need to curse at me," she said pointedly. "Believe me, I know exactly what the stakes are in employing a Muggleborn. I've heard all the excuses a thousand times and more."

He closed his eyes, nodding. Briefly his mask had slipped, a frown had marred his forehead and then it slipped back into place and he looked calm again. "I contacted him right after to offer an alternative job. He never replied."

"And now you think he's the one who's behind all this?"

"It's clear as the day now. All the transactions have been made after the day I sent him the notice that I wouldn't extend his contract. He had another three months to finish his projects and then Dickson took over."

"But why keep those bombs in your cellar. I just don't get it. Does he still have access?"

He shook his head. "No, impossible. The wards are bound to the contracts and adjust accordingly."

"You know where it doesn't make any sense? The first attacks happened way before that. When was this?" she pointed at the papers. "Four months? Maybe five? We've been dealing with this case for a _year_ now."

Draco nodded. "I know. I don't think Fletchley is operating on his own."

"Yeah, logistically it would be impossible for a single person to be behind all this. We figured out some time ago that there's at least two people, if not more. Though we're certain some cases are copycats." Hermione rubbed her temples, feeling a massive headache coming.

"I need to take a shower before I can think about this any further," she declared, downed her now luke-warm coffee and pushed up from the table.

"Can I join?" he asked with a cheeky grin. It was fascinating to see a playful side to Draco. She had always thought of him as this serious, mannerly boy.

"Why not." She shrugged, watching his cheeks flush with the realisation of her answer. It was oddly satisfying. Without waiting for him, she strode down the hall, forgoing the guest bathroom to use his more spacious one instead.

Hermione waited for embarrassment at her brassiness to kick in, for regret or shame to make her cringe, but instead a purring tigress inside of her seemed to stretch her back, excited for what would happen.

After dropping her bra to the floor, she stepped into the shower which only took seconds to warm. Hermione smiled against the spray when she heard the bathroom door open and close. She didn't bother to turn around, instead listening to the rustle of clothes and then the soft squeak of the shower door.

His hot mouth fell to the juncture of her neck, his breath fanning over her wet skin.

"How do I deserve this?" he whispered as he kissed along her shoulder.

Despite the warm water cascading around them, she felt a shiver work its way up her spine at the soft touch of his lips. She suddenly yearned for him to touch her, to put his hands on her and hold her close.

Turning slowly, she let her head fall back so he could explore the expanse of her throat with his lips.

Her hands came up to his face, fingers tangling in the locs clinging to his cheeks. Under the water it shone deeply golden and gave him an angelic look.

Pressing closer, she felt his erection against her stomach. Her heart fluttered with excitement.

"Now, now," he chided, reaching for the bottle of shampoo behind her instead of raising to the bait of her soft breasts pressing against his chest. "Let's get you washed before I can take you to bed and fuck you until we need to take another shower."

Her pout was quickly replaced by an expression of bliss when his masculine fingers massaged the shampoo into the roots of her hair. He continued to lather her whole body with it, going down onto his knees to take first one foot and then the other into his hands to rub the soap in.

Looking up at her, he grinned. "I feel like I'm worshipping a queen."

She moaned when his thumb rubbed along the arch of her foot. "You should," she managed to reply, leaning against the wet tiles behind her to not lose balance.

He made good promise of taking her to bed after quickly dousing himself in soap while she rinsed her hair.

Before she could even reach for a towel, he grabbed her and pulled her in for a long kiss, not minding that they were dripping all over his bathroom floor. Then he scooped her up as if she weighed nothing and carried her to his bed where he laid her down, wet hair and all.

He looked down at her as if drinking in her sight until she got squeamish and shy under his gaze.

"I think I have to make up for last night," he declared when he bent over her, escaping her seeking lips to kiss along her jaw and then down, down her body.

Hermione flinched slightly when he kissed her _there_. "What are you doing?"

He chuckled, his breath fanning across her sensitive flesh. "See how wet you are for me even after that shower?" She felt a finger push inside her, her core vibrating and her legs trembling with wanton. A moan escaped her and her eyes closed on their own merit as her head fell back against the pillows. "You are still so very, very dirty," he murmured and then she felt his hot tongue licking along her pulsing slit as his fingers started pumping in an agonizingly slow rhythm.

"Draco," she gasped when he sucked on her clit and she could swear that she felt his satisfaction radiate from him in waves, as the pulses of an orgasm built and built inside her belly. "Don't stop!" she demanded, her voice husky.

But just as she felt like she was falling and falling into bliss, he withdrew, enticing a disappointed mewl from her lips. He shut it up with a kiss and quickly replaced his practiced fingers with his cock, filling her craving pussy completely with one deep thrust and that was all it took for her to fall over the edge, sinking deeper and deeper with each thrust until she felt him go down with her.

Heavily, he collapsed on her, bracing on his forearms so she could catch her breath.

Her whole body glowed contentedly and she pressed a sloppy kiss on his shoulder. "You made up for yesterday," she assured him as she grinned against his skin.

Draco hummed. "Good."

He rolled them over, pulling her on top of him. Their breathing was heavy and synchronized and when she rested her head on his chest, she could hear their hearts were beating in unity too.

She listened to the heavy thumbing, her eyes growing heavy with contentment. His skin smelled musky of sex. A deep hum resonated in her throat as he stroked the soft skin of her waist, following the line of her hipbone and then up along her spine to the spot where her shoulder blades met and further until his hand rested on her neck, fingers scratching along her scalp. It was a tender embrace, holding her in place above his beating heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have any ideas about who the murder is yet? :D
> 
> Beta: Nora Fares


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have forgotten to upload the final chapters here... Sorry about the dealy :'D

Somehow, they managed to waste the whole night in bed. Draco napped off every then and now and she took delight in waking him up with kisses and tickles. Eventually, Hermione tore herself away from his tender touches and his caring lips. "Dennis will be back soon," she said when he gave her a pitiful look.

"Fuck Dennis."

She laughed. "I prefer this bed, thanks."

Draco's expression turned sour at her twist of his words, but then a lazy smile found its way to his lips. "I knew you were after me. It couldn't just be plain luck that we crossed each other's paths so often back at school."

"You wish!" She scoffed and slid off his bed, letting the white dress shirt she had borrowed from him drop from her shoulders to slowly dress in her own clothes.

He threw one arm behind his head and watched her.

Hermione left him to bask in his annoying satisfaction and returned to the living room, intending to look at the papers he had shown her this morning to get a grasp of what he had done all day.

A look at the clock revealed that it was almost six in the morning. Her shift was nearly over.

Skimming over the employee files, her gaze caught on a name that seemed strangely familiar.

Hearing steps from the hall, she called, "I didn't remember that Fletchley's first name is Justin."

"What are those?" a curious voice asked behind her and Hermione whirled around.

"Oh, Dennis! It's you. Sorry, I thought Draco…" she trailed off. "You're early."

"Had to make up for the hour I took from your shift," he replied with a shrug, his curious eyes sweeping the files strewn over the dining table. "Are you working on the case again?"

"Oh, this? No! It's just something Draco asked me to take a look at for his organization," she evaded the topic.

Her throat felt strangely tight and she wondered where Draco was. Maybe he had fallen asleep again—she had kept him up all night after all.

There was something at the back of her mind, urging to reach her consciousness, but she couldn't quite grasp it.

"Breakfast?" Dennis asked, waving a paper bag from the nearby bakery.

"I—erm, I have to go to the loo." With a swipe of her wand, she collected the papers on the table and sent them floating to Draco's office. "Let me clear this away and then I'll be right back," she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the guest room and locked herself into the adjacent bathroom.

All the way down the hall, she had felt Dennis gaze follow her. She didn't dare look after Draco.

* * *

She returned with an uneasy feeling after splashing her face with cold water to look a bit more alert.

Hermione didn't even manage two steps over the threshold to the living room when she felt more than saw a spell hit her directly in the chess. She was blinded by a bright flash of magic and felt her suddenly stiff body fall uselessly to the hard floor boards.

Before she could blink the pain away and the white spots dancing in front of her eyes, she felt herself being bound by magical ropes. They wound around her limbs like snakes and all that she tried, she couldn't move a finger. Her mind was racing as she felt them tighten around her.

Only when she was bound tightly, did she feel her limb gain back movement and she struggled against the bind desperately despite knowing it was fruitless.

Twisting on the floor, she looked up at the figure towering above her.

"Dennis? What the fuck are you doing?" she hissed.

"Didn't expect this, did you, Hermione?" He smiled down at her. Hermione wanted to curse herself. She should have trusted her gut instinct because it had been obvious and she hadn't believed it.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this," Dennis interrupted her musings. "You weren't supposed to be dragged into everything. I don't know how Malfoy managed to get rid of all the evidence I planted in his office, all the files and the bombs of course.

"I'm sorry," he said again, a shiver crawling down her spine at those words. "This won't be pretty. I have to make sure that he can't get rid of _this_ evidence. Believe me, I don't like this. But it won't hurt much, not as much as Samantha. I didn't bind her properly…"

Hermione sucked in a shocked breath and renewed her struggles. "Cut this crap," she wheezed as the ropes tightened around her torso the more she fought against them.

He ignored her demand and instead frowned at the scar on her arm where her sleeve had ridden up and ropes cut into her flesh. "They did that to us, didn't they? Marked us with this ugly word to make sure we could never be better than that. Your sacrifice will not be futile, I promise."

Hermioen swallowed, trying to appear calm. "You don't need to do this, Dennis."

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "You don't understand. I _have_ to do this."

Dennis searched her eyes and despite the nausea she felt building at his cold expression, she held his gaze. "You used Justin to get the money you needed for those bombs, didn't you? Pretending to be his friend when he was in need of support and dragging him down into your machinations." She remembered as if it was yesterday what she had overheard in the office. Justin having lost his job, Dennis 'helping' him… Hermione had just taken until now to connect Justin to Finch-Fletchley. He was a plain guy, even back at school, she had barely spared him a second thought.

"Maybe you do understand. I've seen you working more than anyone, Hermione. I've seen your brilliant mind blossoming back at Hogwarts and then they put you in an office cubicle like a zoo animal to do funny tricks. Right now, there's too many old pureblood men in high positions for people like us to make a change, but that will soon change."

She felt dread close her throat at his words. This wasn't Dennis and yet it was. It felt like a mask had slipped off, as if this twisted version of him had always been below that kind and innocent face. All words died in her throat when he continued speaking.

"You know, it was always us who fought for freedom and a secure life. Always the young and most vulnerable. Children! It's time to balance society again, make sure there's more of us than there is of them."

She swallowed. "What are you planning?"

"You won't need to concern yourself with that, you won't live that long."

"Do you even listen to yourself? This is absolute insanity!"

"Oh, it will be!" He grinned his lighthearted grin and Hermione's heart broke in agony as she realised the sweet boy she had once known was lost forever.

"You know, it's far too easy to bring dangerous artefacts into the ministry as long as it's under the pretence of a running investigation."

That's when Hermione was able to connect the dots. _Old pureblood men_ , of course he was targeting the Wizengamot where one wrinkled hand shook the other, the members patting their shoulders in mutual agreement of their legitimacy and superiority. He was planning to bring in the bombs as evidence and then set them off.

"Ah, I see you figured it out. You were always way too clever for your own good. It was a blessing and curse at the same time to get you off the case while bringing you closer to Malfoy. I wish you had just been injured by the bomb in the coffee shop instead and been in St. Mungo's for a couple of weeks. That would have made everything a little easier. Then Justin failed to set your house on fire at the right time, yet again missing you. He was never a clever one. I told him to check and yet he didn't.

"But enough talk now," he pulled a knife. "We'll have to do this the Muggle way, he said in a way of apology. Can't risk the magic being tracked back to me."

"What about Draco?" she asked, desperate to distract him.

"Oh, you two really got close, didn't you?" He smiled. "Do not worry for him, dear Hermione. He is sleeping until it's time for him to wake up. He will spend the rest of his life in a small cell in Azkaban once he has been tried for your murder. I'll make sure to tell a tragic story of how I came just minutes too late."

Hermione struggled to free herself from the bonds, but all it did was tear at the tender skin of her wrists. Maybe she should start begging, she thought distantly. Maybe it was time to pray. But when she closed her eyes to will herself someplace else in the hope that her magic somehow would burst out of her and make her wish come true. But she could only think of Draco. He would be blamed for this, he would suffer the consequences long after her.

A dull _humpf_ sounded above her and she tore her eyes open. Dennis still towered over her, knife in hand, but his eyes looked strangely bulging and frozen. Then they rolled into the back of his head and he unceremoniously folded in on himself like a house of cards.

She didn't quite understand what had happened until her eyes fell on a figure with blonde hair standing in the door to the hall.

Hermione pursed her lips. "About bloody time, Davies."

"Sorry, Granger. I ha-had a date and ignored the Patronus you sent. I didn't think it was urgent because it didn't say anything…"

"Well, what are you waiting for? Free me already!"

"Of course!" He nearly fell over his own feet when he hastened forward to pull at the ropes still binding her.

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard her head hurt. "Use your wand, you imbecile."

"Oh, yeah, sure."

A blink of an eye later, she was free, rubbing her wrists to get rid of the red marks on them. "Where's Draco?"

* * *

**How did you like my epic viallain speech? :D**

**Beta: Nora Fares**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, here's the ending to Glassceiling :) I hope you enjoyed the story and here's a little bit of fluff for you to enjoy:

* * *

"Hermione! You should still be in St. Mungo's," Harry chided as she strode into his office, clad in her business wear.

"No time for that. I have to continue my life sometime, don't I?"

He frowned but indicated for her to sit. "How are you?"

She smiled and waved her wrists where the last marks of where the ropes had cut her skin had faded. "Much better, actually."

"You do remember what I did last time you refused to listen to me and take a proper break from work?"

She laughed. "Funny you mention it. I happen to have found a way to avoid that in the future."

Harry pursed his lips, bracing his hands on the edge of his massive desk. "What's that?"

"I'm quitting."

He spluttered. "You—WHAT?"

"Listen, don't take it personally, Harry. I love working with you, but we both know that I want more. The seat for the head of the department happens to be taken already and the Minister's position won't be free for the foreseeable future, so I have to find other means to make the career I dreamed of."

He swallowed and then nodded slowly. "You know that I would give up my desk immediately to let you take over if Kingsley would allow it."

"Ah, rubbish! Ginny would kick my ass if you stepped down the career ladder. She needs you to earn for the two of you until she finally makes it to the higher Quidditch League and can replace you as the breadwinner of the family."

"That is…" Harry scratched his forehead nervously, "frighteningly accurate."

"You know I'm always right." Hermione smiled. "I have to hurry now. Here's my batch. I'll see you at the Burrow for Sunday brunch!"

"Wait!" he called after her when she was already at the door. "What are you going to do from here on?"

"Oh, I'll have my own scholarship program to manage. Draco realised that he's shit at providing what Muggleborns really need to make it in the wizarding world, so I'll take over for him."

"Oh, that makes sense, I guess." Harry smiled. "It's good to see you being this motivated again. It's like—you know, meeting an old friend. Belfer two point O."

She rolled her eyes, "It's .R, Harry."

A chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh, and before you go… Molly said to invite Draco for Sunday, too."

Hermione raised her eyebrow. "That's all she said?"

"Well, erm… do I need to repeat her detailed plans for your wedding that you don't even know of yet?"

Hermione groaned. "That meddling woman! We've been dating for a week and she's already onto us."

"You know how she is." Harry shrugged. "She's gotta be right, though. She knew Ron and Padma would marry back in fourth year. Ron told me about how she wouldn't shut up about how sweet they look in the Yule Ball photos and _voilà_ — here we are with Mini-Padma and Mini-Ron running around the Burrow."

Hermione pretended to cringe but laughed heartily. "Still, it remains to be seen what will happen with Draco and I. I'm not sure if I'm ready to bind myself to an insufferable ferret."

"Did you say ferret?"

"Ah, speak of the devil." Hermione grinned up at Draco who waited outside Harry's office.

"When will I ever be rid of that nightmare? You know I suffered a mild concussion and three months of nightmares after that incident? I sometimes still subconsciously feel my face to see if I've grown whiskers!"

"Aww, that would be so cute." She patted his cheek mockingly.

Draco caught her hand and held it there. "Not as cute as you in that suit, darling," he whispered and bent down to peck her lips.

Hermione felt herself flush, her belly tingling like a horde of tiny Blibbering Humdingers were throwing a party inside. "Not at the office, Draco," she chided. But when he pouted down at her, she chuckled and allowed one more kiss.

"How about some ice cream to celebrate you getting rid of Potter?"

"Oh, I won't be rid of him anytime soon, luckily. You'll have to live with _that_ ", Hermione gestured towards the door to Harry's office, "if you want _this_." She pointed at herself.

Draco let out a long, suffering sigh. "The lengths I go for a little bit of sex."

Hermione sniffed. "You'll need a lot of ice cream if you continue being such a dick."

He followed after her with a broad smirk. "Anything for my princess."

* * *

"Tell me," Draco said as they drifted along with the masses through Diagon Alley, ice cream cone in hand, "who was it again that you cheated on Weasley with?"

Hermione stiffened. "I'm not sure you want to know that," she replied.

"Oh, come on. I'm not judging."

She smiled. Maybe she should give him something to judge her.

Draco pouted at her. "Now you're smiling. You want to tell me, just say it."

"Okay, but on one condition!" She raised a finger.

"Anything!"

She chuckled. "You are far too trusting to promise me anything for information that insignificant."

Draco shrugged. "You're too Gryffindor to actually exploit the opportunity."

She nodded, licking her blueberry-scotch flavoured ice cream. "You're probably right. Though I'm not above having you do the dishes and the cleaning for a month and send Fester on an extended holiday."

He grumbled something intelligible. "I hope it's worth it," he finally said.

"Okay, you ready?"

"Shoot."

"Pansy Parkinson."

He was stunned silent for a moment. Then, very slowly, a grin made its way onto his face. "You didn't."

Hermione shrugged. "She had some information on a drug trafficking ring that I needed, and it was not entirely unpleasant considering how fit she is. That girl can bend, you wouldn't believe it."

He laughed at that.

Hermione smiled, her heart warming at seeing him so carefree. She had intended to shock him a little, had felt the thrill of sharing that secret of hers. She had never been ashamed of it, had only been ashamed of how much she had hurt Ron in the process.

She had gotten judgement for it, but in the end, Hermione had never cared about Molly's outdated moral values.

Draco still had a twinkle in his eye when he bent closer to her ear. "I'll happily do the dishes for that beautiful image in my mind. Maybe I should ask Pansy to give me a repeat performance to enjoy."

Hermione smacked his arm. "Don't you dare."

"I'm not sure I can hold myself back," he said, pretending to contemplate the issue. "I might need a distraction to keep me from flooing to her right now. Maybe a kiss would help..."

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled against his lips as she pulled him into an alley to get away from the masses. "How about we go home instead and I'll make sure you are plentifully distracted?"

Draco grinned. He didn't need to be asked twice.

**~ THE END ~**

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta + last-minute beta + beta that holds my hand whenever I need her: Nora Fares :3

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Leave a review while you're at it :D
> 
> The story is written and in beta process, updates will come regularly :)
> 
> As this is a crime story, how about we play some games ;) There are two references in this chapter, one to Brooklyn 99, the best TV show ever, and the other to the Addams Family. Let me know in a review if you found them!


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